Read at Radio Univers, UG.
Oh! The falling mouth
Hanging heavy with proverbial weight
Their head round, encircled
With ancient wisdom
Dug furrowed brow
Exhausted with intelligence
Eyes milky
For what million evils they see
Their cracked lined soles
Oh for their countless journeys untold
Their palm wined filled belly
In there lies quietly in fury
The unquenching flames of the ancestral spirits
Shrouded by the fist of a pacifist
Angrily ready for drops of wine
Oh to stoke the wet flames
And evoke their spirits
To peaceful war against their enemies
And they last more ages
For they ate not in silver, but pots.
If and when we would decide to read poetry or a piece of discerning article a day, our world is, then headed for a change. No magic potion whatsoever: if there were, politicians would have used it a long time ago. Our mind is all that we have; the only exception to tricks of all corners and angles. Enjoy the luxury and peace of poetry...
No comments:
Post a Comment