Grandchild of God Poetry. All reserved (c)
As after the rain
when drops of it gather
in the funnel of a violet
in that dewy hue I have seen
A fair nymph clad in vines
Riding on an ivory chariot
Drawn by sea monsters
Holding reins of stringed pearls
Upon her brow a wreath
Of ever blooming buds of violets
And above her head a chandelier of sapphires
Hanging from the lilac sky
Do I see the world as I ought?
Have I seen another world?
O what turbulent bliss!
My eyes are as dry as ever
No approaching storm in these balls
I won’t cry I won’t shade no tear
I have no passion to waste
No tears to feed the ground.
You vex days without end asking
Why does he smile so much
Ever so happy and gay
Is he untouched by sorrow?
O mad unfeeling wretch
Every heart needs a bone to gnaw
Mine is passion put to use
My strings will do the weeping
I will play with such passion and sadness
It would break the nightingale’s heart.
My pen will shade the tears
Words of such grief and beauty
That no reading tongue could utter
My prayers fly to God
And my sole duty remains
Turning ugly pain to useful beauty.
Dejected and tired folks walk by
Chilly morning bugs under the eye
Some riding in buses tired and half asleep
A new day with new troubles
And there on the side walks
A blind man strums his guitar
Giving the sound of a beautiful day
That flashes out the bugs
With a gleam of joy
And wakes up the sleeping with amazement
Singing from the heart is his trade
Every morning to keep the people alive
He can’t see the gratitude in our faces
But can hear the chink of coins
Come on good sir, drop him a coin
And carry the a tune in your heart
To last you the day
And enjoy each moment for each moment’s sake
Finally sun struck the rocky slopes
a frog and a snake
in peace come out to bask
Life is sand slipping through our fingers
Ours is to love an make the most of it
Why do you sit there bowed in silence?
Too sad that nobody can reach you
We can’t live like this
Please, tell me your sorrow.
Hello dusty wanderer
Are you an angel in disguise?
Make me understand
I am a poor poet
Just an artist not a real person
Stuck in a windless sea
Blowing sails with feeble breath
Empty silence I have known
What does the ocean make of my suffering?
What has happened to me?
I see you in everything
I bought a ripe mango today
Its skin reminded me of your caramel thighs
When they have escaped the clasp of your silk tunic
You don’t know what these memories mean to me.
