I do not know any more, simple too many things, everything
on this futile plant is a threat. I read it day by
day, sleep on it at nights like a penitent fool.
The environmentalist guru, conservative genius, the
moderate character. Two legged, even four, five and
ten, they are like Praetorian guard standing with
watchful eyes,and with their tribal list in hand.
What to fear, snakes which I dislike with a passion.
What to fear, if only I knew clearly, the fanatic, or
myself, Countries of the South pacific, madmen of the
Sahara, horn of Africa, or the West, indicative of the
bless with everything ending up in hell?
What to fear, allow me to catch my breath, watch the
steps taken, else fall into pathetic mess.O! God let
my fears lead into golden bless, fantasy be few, its
too much a nightmare living in a cosmic bubble. What
to fear, here I begin, a healthy fear of the brotherhood, and sisterhood of the neighborhood, and escape this apocalypse invading force, the ” zombies”.
I was young then, and so were my friends.
We ride along with the night, no fears.
There we were, hollering beside ghost
of the Georgian dark night. We played,
and dance around tombs, telling the dead,
it is alright.
I was young then, so were my companions.
We ride along with the night, I tell you,
our psychic was high, no fears, such sight
hollering beside ghost of the Georgian dark
night. Fun, madness, rituals of youthful mind.
I was young then, so were my friends, now you
know why I dislike October with a chill. O! it
was wild, with our cheeping cracking applause,
cleaving to each other, telling the dead, it is
alright, before our exist.That was 1983, my first
ghostly night in Canada, I still remember, do not ask me why?
Between shattered glasses walked, no place
to hide, for you tossed me everywhere.
Furiously, you raged, stinging like bees,
pebbles, dust thrown into my face.Your speed
left me sighing, gazing, beat upon as if am
not someone’s child.
Babbling, twisted poles, branches, leafs falling,
babies crying, so many pain in my father’s eyes,
as you the old age violinist dance and sing, the wind.
Speak at will, you control the game all the time.
Definitely your side I will stay, however mad. No
one knows the way of you, often driven by your
stateless sound. All I can tell, the effects is
everywhere, even bring tries from welling eyes.
O wind! you are a special kind, dust on your tail
charting the universe, eternity past, eternity
present, full with the antis of your virtuosic self.
I like you, not that it can be otherwise, life
without you cannot be imaging, the appealing, virtuous whistling wind
No shame,Tropic Sun, ran under panganat trees,
I could tell as blaze spread throughout
mango walk, cane field, and then,
lighten upon the sea.
Tropic Sun, from Blue Mountain peak,
Children ran to greet you, lustrous
isle beneath blue sky. The rich stopped
by to say hi, the suffering poor and
beast stood, and salute, despite their
state of affair.
Tropic Sun, rising from your place of
origin, mast with your multitudinous
smile. What a show, you speak for the
diversity of man, blood soak in the soil
you bear down upon. I will embrace you for the
hope, bring to us.