LANDSCAPE WITHOUT ANGELS


95

Bravely in a land of dust
As pilgrims we make our way
To some far country we believe is good
But the truth is, we are all immigrants

Nomads and priestesses of our faith
Sojourning in foreign countries
In heart-broken cities that endure
An agony to submit

To the volatile finger of God
Or to thrust our lives
In the climate or our Self-Will
Our solid body craving so much

In the muted landscapes of our youth
Bravely in a land of dust
As pilgrims we make our way
In forever-turning seasons

That bend in the breeze with rust
Beneath implied-expectations where
Our worth is judged, every day.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/the-city-lights-152148064

On Essential Matters


I am not alluding to the ‘lost generations’
So much has changed of what it means to be lost
Long live the people of prosperity
Who sacrifice freedom, for the power of superiority

Maybe they see life differently
Act more decisively, set more goals
While dewdrops moisten my emptiness and loneliness
After prayers in the snow, that went unanswered

I am not typical of my generation
So much has changed from East to West
My longings have grown and been crushed
Like dozens of times, a broken-heart gone unanswered

The twinkling of stars do not care
There is no Eastern River to sail down, where I live
The tea is cold, my true love is only inside
A Shepherd of my soul that I sometimes hear

Sometimes after, sometimes ahead of hope
This silver frosty world is like transient snow
Laughable as we find the problems of history
There is no road for you but the essential matter
Where do you place your heart, and what do you count?