“The destiny and history of nations -
Corroding, compromising
Raided, deranged, derailed;
The machines have churned out
Great two dimensional heroes.
The poet stands alone.”
Through blood he wades
Towards the crown
Dead and gone
Vanity of human wishes
Of silken cloth
Of laced up boots
Leading on doom
Disaster.
Unloved, unmissed, unremembered
No graves, no wood to burn
No vultures either
“Privileged, you want to live?
Project, what?
God – he dead;”
Epitaph –
‘Here lies a poet’
Accepting commitment,
Reasonable pride is motivation enough
That impetus is now gone
Clinging to dedications
Growing, revolving
Shrieking in the wilderness
No voice, no words
“Progress, then?
What about the land?
Did it sprout gold?
Elucidate -
Duly justified in terms of human content.”
Analysts, economists
They don’t know
The poet stands still
Talking about all you know and more
No break, no disjunction
“I do not write of the poet
Disillusioned, embittered, lost
I write of those who give me gold.”
