Three-wheeler on the ride,
After the dark rains had dripped, cleansed and washed off
The black soot from branches,
Stems and leaves of the elms in the woods;
The owls had hooted,
And the coarseness of their rough-textured throats had shuttered.
Their beaks had muted
And the deep-dark feathers had paled
On the dry bare ground.
There they lain dead.
Thresh out the hard corns
And burn up the chaff of it,
Let the idle remain poor
And the strong survive and rule;
Both the ants and the elephants,
Gigantic and the small,
The powerful and the enlightened;
We'll reign and reign
Upon those festooned, designed and fated to be under.
Three-cornered, rather, three-dimensional
Our thoughts never meet
'Cause we live ironical lives,
And on two competitive sides
Just like opposers and proposers
Head to head on a round table,
Discussing revolutionary matters
And territories to be conquered
The Devonshire white paper-like
But never with a resolution.
Cyclonical our minds might be
But not on the latch,our brains shall be.
You pretended to be a monk
Or a priest of a kind,
We 'vided you with the glebe
Just as a righteous folk would do.
And on our fields you planted,
Your harsh and chaotic corns,
That yielded,and wielded rough remedies
Of great torture and phobia.
We clattered, gutted and muttered
Our thoughts in wonder,
Of the myths and tales,
The poems and stories
With no rhymes nor rhythms
That you created on foreign lands,
That even,your ancestors did not own.
©jackrollen
©jackrollen
J