Daydreaming

I daydream of the star-
dusty front yard of my childhood -
the years spiraling down on their heads
between hard-working flower pots,
towers overlooking with affection
a sparkling little hand
swerving rubber cars,
the tire ruts a trail
on my mother’s tired face.

The vengeance of the conquered

 

Whether he was after a vision or set

on punishing the Persians, or simply

acted under pressure from within,

the Great Greek, name beginning with an ‘A’

              as in ‘Bucephalus’,

could not have known that those he had conquered

would conquer back and be

              ante portas to the West,

twenty three hundred years later.

 

Enter

        Afghans, Iraqi, Pakistani, Philippino and all!

Enter

        others from the Near, the Middle and the Far East

Enter

        the swarthy from the dark south, enter all:

        the hungry and the poor,

        the victims of politics and war!

Enter Islam,

        the poor cousin from the East.

If your loins survived the boat trip,

the knees of the West will shake and tremble.

        Is this a day rape or a nuptial night?

 

See what the West has become?

A harrowing harlot.

Ruins upon ruins your dreams:

the money lenders have conquered the temple

to establish their own napalm Christianity

marching East on ‘As’ as in ‘Bombers’

 

 

Zarathustra

Zarathustra Revisited

Complacency

Pedaling in perspiration along
the uphill road to poetry,
you smile in cool complacency,
with the left eyebrow cocked to consonance,
while the sun, and sum, of technical
requirements weighs heavy on your shoulders.

Surely there’s something rattling in your head,
but Fate may one day resolve –
playful, complacent and cool as she is –
to hide from your eyes the on-coming truck
of criticism as you try to cross
over to vanity street and,
Ooops, that must have hurt!

Rise and shine my flat-headed friend!
Quit sprawling on the hot-scented
asphalt of embarrassment;
pick up your pancake head;
wipe the red and move on;
and move on!

The face of justice

In this country
The face of Justice
Is a reflection of a face smeared
With individual and political expediency,
Pervasive corruption and
The occasional arrogance and ignorance
Of public prosecutors.

In this country
The face of Justice
Is what we make of our face,
And hands.

Justice, they say.
What justice?
We’ve lost face
And got our hands dirty!

This country, which never was
Or ever will be,
Is a thing of the past,
Unless. . .

A Ship

A ship,
a ship at last!
Oh how I envy the keen keel
furrowing firmly the future
of its unpredictable route,
while I in time present
am lost
in the past of your embrace.

Again

You rise from the pregnant slime
over and over
to reward with a cereal smile
or punish with a pestilent smack
this or that man
or woman
and then dive deep in the tuberous slime
again
like a sea pen in Tasmanian
tannin waters
until
man or woman merits
the same
again.
Thus time is born.

One and Zero

It's really amazing that
From such numbers as
One and Zero -
Being and Nothingness,
Heaven and Hell were born.

River of fire

Christianity, Islam, Buddhism ... dust in our eyes
wails in our ears, poison in our mouths,
daggers in our hearts.
Let us sit on the bank of the river of fire
and share our knowledge of water.
And when we get bored, let us baptize each other
in the air, for soon we shall become earth.

By a Picture

For years now
I have known you by a picture which
your hands had painfully approved:
head-cover
over coal black anemone,
sad, young and milky white
chador or skin – the same,
to which picture I added in my mind
the voices of the silent sea that best adorn
your lovely lonely face
smiling from the distant shore
I-wish-you-were-here.

Night

Night is queen, queen.
Queen of heaven,
O night, queen are you.

Light is the exception,
For you had no inception;
It was always, always you.

Candle burning like no other,
Lucifer, Luna or Sun,
you could smother all,
but pinned all on you.