Seven clowns on the trail of destruction.
And a Sarajevo girl who can read my mind,
Was this what I was looking for?
A life in fast-forward; a death in rewind?
We all sing lullabies to the moon,
As our ephemeral reasons to stay awake drown,
What’s so because-poetic to the common man,
Is just another blasphemy to the astute clown
Soon with the liquescent wisdom of gods,
And with saline water our ship shall fill,
Then we’ll have neither another word in our quiver,
Not another drop of blood on our quill
And would the Sarajevo girl selling flowers now,
Then sell umbrellas and harvest hope? ,
Phorcydes wouldn’t help us when we ran out of water,
Don’t expect any rescue if we run out of soap
With heavy hearts and with debts on our back,
We learn to paddle this lone canoe,
Let the electrified river with a penchant for falling,
Take us all safely to where everyone’s due.
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 2.5 License.
- suraj sharma
- my mind, therefore, becomes this outstretched field of immeasurable serenity, which, although illuminated at angles awkward and unfamiliar to my eyes - is neither dark nor twilit. The strange lighting turns the vacuous foreplay of shadows chasing shadows into an euphoric, almost utopian feeling which is held in suspension as long as this configuration of appearances beckons the restlessness of reason ever forward into the uncharted hinterlands of imagination while at the same time compelling me to bless the lighting director.
1 comments:
I don't know what to say other than thank you from the bottom of my heart.
This is a beautiful, moving poem and a lovely seasons gift.
May your holidays be as bright and beautiful as a mine and may they insipire you to write more and more.
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