A LOVER’S QUESTION

Between
Soft linen white sheets
And even whiter and softer breast
I pondered her love
Is it true?
Is it true?
Like the moon-lit Cymean, nights
Which shelters Pactyes
Let me seek the Oracle of Branchidae
Should I be sheltered in her arms?
Kept warm by her bosom
Swirling twirling dizzling images in my mind
Of endless lover’s nights
Of afternoons drinking tea
And thinking which way to trod
To pass the early mornings’ walk
We shall see
We shall see
If my little Daphne flees
And turns into a tree
Or if my little Nymph’s speed
Shall turn her into a Reed
Should the mind just withdraw
Into its happiness?
Or think and ponder
And make the pleasure less
Is her love true? I wonder!
Is it true?
The mind is cruel
Never having pity!
And yet
The question pervades
And lingers like Io’s gadfly
But!
Like doubts and other musings
Far-seeking and deep debates
‘Tis not the question
That needs the knowing
For
It’s not her love that is to question
‘Tis mine!

invocation

oh show these wandering eyes
where perhaps some beauty lies
a maiden so sweet and fair
fostered by the hands of care

oh show this leadened heart
where perhaps some love may start
let pure love not fall in vain
like Apollo’s immortal pain

WE, THE HOLLOWED MEN

“a peso to T.S.”

‘We, the Hollowed Men
We, the Stuffed Men’

Filled with Straw
The rats feed on our feet

We whisper together
Quiet and Meaningless

Shape without form
Shade without Color
Paralysed force,
Gestures without Motion

‘We, the Hollowed Men
We, the Stuffed Men’

The wind pass through us
and motions us to give us
Life apparent

Our thoughts are not ours alone
Our bodies are not that strong
Leaning together, we stand still
We move by other men’s will

But everyday, our numbers grow
How and Why, we do not know

‘We, the Hollowed Men
We, the Stuffed Men
We, the Empty Men.’

Death spares us not
Now and then we lose
some straws

And when the last straw falls
This is how we end
“Not with a bang but a whimper.”