A
point of life between my parents dust
and
yours, my precious children, that is I.
A
bearer of the ills which bear I must
We
breathe together briefly; soon I fly.
I've
seen you come to being, one by one,
In
labour wards of nurse and sometimes stay,
Like
prismatic colours from the rising sun
Willing
you to live another day.
New
feathers, dropped from angel's wings,
Satellites,
around your mother's sun,
Begot
from the wisdom that with fear begins
The
unimaginable wheel of time is spun.
Labour's
storm that has found a nest
when
wisdom stands aside for nature's force,
I
tell myself you're better than the rest,
No
father ever spawned a Trojan horse.
Love
transferred by lips that form the kisses
to
eyelids shutting out the the unseen face,
Repeated,
thousand times on nights as this is,
You
had no say in choosing time or place.
You
know me well now; don't know me at all!
Can
only gauge myself when I'm asleep
You
have no probe to measure rise or fall
or
tell if I'm a shallow well or deep.
I
never did enough for you or can,
Can't
even guess what you expect of me,
Sometimes
a furtive glance or curious scan,
If
only I could see what you can see.
The
Reaper has no diary, makes no date,
Life
and death, each the other cause,
There
is no antidote to fate,
Flesh
will perish, to prove it never was.
A
convicted prisoner in my grated cell
I
am, awaiting truth, grim arbiter of all,
The
moon, the waiting and the tremulous bell
still
penetrate this finite wall.
Departing
sunbeams cannot last,
Hearken
the ferryman, one way ticket from land,
And
what my judgment when I'm past?
A safe or slip from your father's hand?
No comments:
Post a Comment