When time
takes away the color from the green-leafed nature
– it will return.
When time
touches the human so heavily
– a memory will remain.
But when
the death-dealing people
take the breath away,
besides memories,
remain questions,
– Why?
– What for?
– In the name of what faith
does a Human kill a Human?
(Translated by Artur Komoter.)
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Paved, tarred streets smother us
Dreaming.. stilled.
Beneath, if you listen,
Grass echoes its longing
and ancient verges, glades
and meadows sweet ache
In our fox soul of red souls
As we tread wearily,
Ceaselessly towards a confinement
of city.
an astronaut I heard
lamenting from the station
cries knowing amid our gains
loss lays heavy lidded
bleeding breaths mon-oxide doused
to a paling sky.
Shoving up between each step
Weeds protest their places
Abandoning all
pretence we scatter home
to find waiting lonely
and wilting, shedding leaves
our own journey in green tears.
Cold, grey city
with cold, grey faces,
hands in pockets,
eyes expressionless and pale.
Queues of resigned people,
standing years apart,
each one thinking thoughts
that the other can’t impart.
Five foolish girls
share a forbidden fag,
glancing over their shoulders
with stilettos in a bag.
And in ten years time,
when they have been moulded
into mature, married women,
they will stand
In queues of resigned people,
standing years apart
in their own allotted spaces,
choking in the dark.
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I don’t know, where this will go
I can’t see, how it’s going to be
But I know, I’ve given you, me
I don’t know, the length of my stay
But I do know, I want it this way
I can’t ask what I want from you,
I just crave to get some of you
This see-saw is wild, crazy and free
We’ve built up a trust
For something that can’t be
It’s strange and it’s odd
I think of you everyday
Wishing, somehow, there was a way
To be together more often
But that would our hearts soften
Into a prohibited place
I dream of a world, made of leisure and lace
Passion and pleasure, and ample space
To do and be whatever we feel
We know in the moment, the feeling
is real
As much as its wrong, it’s terribly enticing
It makes my life fun, sexy, exciting
It’s easy to say ‘let’s let it go’
But so far we’ve not been able to do so
A dangerous place we now stand in
Torn between right and wrong, weak or strong
Values used to be black and white
But there’s a grey we’ve created
And it’s not understated
It’s deep and wild and hard to control
Hard to let go, easy to hold
Inhibitions lost, can they be found?
I don’t think I can turn this around
I can honestly say, it’s time to face the truth
The truth is, I’ve fallen for you…
Though there exist humans,
Humanity goes extinct.
Though there beats a heart within every human ,
Love becomes a rare scene.
Though there’s a book in everyone’s hand ,
True knowledge is yet to be gained.
Though people thrives to be great ,
Irresponsibility is a deficiency disease.
mason dixon lewis and clark
went exploring until it got dark
stumbled into the indian ocean
celebrated there with great emotion
many say the french-russian revolution
can be considered as the final solution
never mind what makes good sense
based on the facts and the evidence
make up anything and write a book
everyone’ll trust you if you’re a crook
Winter Becoming Spring Again
Storm patterns change
when winter turns to spring
when Arctic fronts
leave ice and snow behind
and an atmospheric river drains
the tropics over land,
bringing winds and thunderstorms ashore
creeping up the mountain slopes
until high altitude
remakes the rain as snow
piling deep on frozen ground
awaiting sunshine soaking in,
transforming ice to snowmelt flowing
downslope once again
to burnt-off canyon hillsides
blooming where the fires raged
when fearful drought
from global warming,
became these lowlands burning
decades of annual growth recycled
reborn now in floods and mudslides
crushing toward the sea again,
where surf rebounds
from rocky shorelines
rising above the ocean’s heatsink
bringing balance to the country
while storing new cyclonic furies
in deep blue icy waters–
next year’s winter storms upwelling
from the past, the winter dying,
remaking this, our home, again
in patterns drawn from humankind’s
neglectful depredations.