Couldn't stand, the waters pulled me down
And never ever the wilderness, lost beyond
Whatever colours left, I’ll worship you, there
Where’s that lady that lady that lady so fair ?
I think of mornings that yield to dawn
And of those nights that cry for freedom
Nothing remains save the Mayflower
carrying the pilgrims beyond the tower
This moment and only this, and nothing else
Blasphemy for some, for others, sex sells
Yet it’s a carnival where it rains throughout the day
You can stay for a while, then you've got to go away
Couldn't stand, my feet shook with the mast
Couldn't crawl down, couldn't move fast
Cramped by the walls, but the journey was long
Had to come back – right where I belong
Home sweet home, the bed and the dead
Sleep makes amends, as poets might’ve said
Do waters meet? Seas shores islands and crooks
Dear T.S. Eliot, they haven’t yet read your books
With plagiarized oaths, false rhymes and aching bones
I’ll be writing my own stories across the granite stones
But I can not stand, journey and fever has made me weak
A few moments more, a few seconds more – that’s all I seek
Couldn't stand, the fleshes had blood – virgin blood !
Of primitive Goddesses, faith and draught and flood
Posters and handbills to fill my dreams I guess
You can hide your body I know, but can you hide the face?
There’s nothing to mourn, except for the telephone
and forgetfulness – the only two things I call my own
I’ve found myself sleeping in some cobwebbed tomb
Mother, mother, will you take me back to your womb?
The mother, the sister, the lady, the wife and the whore
Staring down the frames for fifty two centuries and more
Voices speak of themselves, and the leaves – they talk of shame
She stood before me and she asked – “Do you know my name?”
Couldn't stand, couldn’t bear the smell of tears
They pulled me down – the water and the hidden fears
The night is cold and dark – like seventeen empty wells
In those very depths of darkness our banished Eve dwells
And if she doesn't know, then let her know
What poison these soils can grow……
The words keep on staring from the other side of the shore
But now there’s nothing left to be said anymore, anymore…..
3 comments:
the pain in this poem becomes real....i can empathize with the author....another superb piece of work....kudos brother!!!
There you go! You had to mention Eliot? Only I know how many sleepless nights I've spent reading him! He's an addiction. Had he read it,he'd have been proud of you. You struck a fine balance between being modernist and staying true to your roots.
There you go! You had to mention Eliot? Only I know how many sleepless nights I've spent reading him! He's an addiction. Had he read it,he'd have been proud of you. You struck a fine balance between being modernist and staying true to your roots.
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