Archive for April, 2011

Along the sweating air in this bizarre citadel,
There droops a bird on the leafless bough.
There is a known mirage on the path so supple,
There is life among dwelling peasant’s laugh. 

I not see now the devout saints of sulphur,
Nor hear music beyond the curtained door.
In this heat thoughts become lighter and lighter
And vanish vanquished beyond visual amber.

So sensuous, so hidden are the words now,
To spell or to see is the dilemma in hope.
Some friends are lost in this battle of seasons,
Some old ones still wait for me to hop.
There is no lake now, my stream has dried,
Vapours alone see meaning in tests and tow. 

But wait for droplets to fall not far away
And the dying stream to flow fresh again
With smells of earth married to heated air.
With hope shall this generation survive
Through odds of time and tides of pain
To further move our seeds with care?

With hope comes divinity more distinct,
And life gains the true love precinct.
Beyond this unending dream of the stream
The soul journeys through eternity.


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