Akaasi 24: Wounded is that Eye
Where once shimmered a velvet sea,
of love, ardour and wrinkled clemency,
now spans hollow the end of my days,
beneath its skin, a wounded optic plays.
Where once shimmered a velvet sea,
of love, ardour and wrinkled clemency,
now spans hollow the end of my days,
beneath its skin, a wounded optic plays.
Whilst thou rejoice’st in the splendor of day,
the fear of darkness hath crept to stain
thy conscience clean with the mark of dismay
and no longer then dos’t thy bliss remain.
Sesame sprouts crumble the sweating dirt,
a summer breeze warms a valley’s breath,
brimming shores under the majestic sun
pave an endless river to all fates unknown.
Of lost, what with? Of lost, to whom?
To gain, where of? Of left too soon.
The play of life whilst in the womb,
for dust and ash and else for doom.
“Pity! It failed, that piper’s march”
sang the awoken prancing children,
moments ago even though each larch
bore witness to their joy’s meridian.
Now breathes wistful the conquest wind
one that lead once a myriad to pinnacle’s
prerogative, Alas! for the myriad rescinds
adherence to sense with airs most cynical.
Prosper shall not naught but valiance,
of valiance is naught left to swear.
I dreamt of might but dreams are dalliance
of great hearts and death they bear.
I hoped perchance but days ago
to promise thee the endless sun,
but left at side is naught such so
thus valiance is all but undone.
The savior of integrity is no being other
than the one to whom it is a prospect worthy.
You are he to whom belong the winds of fate
sail upon your sea, sail to northern true.
Your world in ruin, also your home,
helplessly suffering bitter misfortune,
bleeding Gaza must be where you roam
imagine your wailing unheard importune.