Friday, February 22, 2008

A Few Of My Lost Poems Out Of A Torn Diary

Into Subconscious Mind wilderness

He knew he was of the wild.

Never told anybody,

Not to his mother, in dream.

Not to the miss from town

Who once said him, brainsick child!

At bosom he knew he was wild.

When moon of blood shone on

The porch of his residence

He impelled to imbibe the dark

Greens and deep jungle of truth.

Like a crisp tooth moonlight fell

On full human race of sanity.

He knew someday he had to

Run away into deep deep

Wilderness that put beneath

Our twenty-four hours and nighttime of minds.


By the window of the funeral and florescent flower

See, the human human human human human human face of her.

The hungriness makes blend with grief.

She come up ups out to base up at a outstretch porch, stand stiff.

At the outside a spreading of night....

The funeral and florescent flower

Those with sad glorification and glorious glaze

White Person glaze,

That exudes into the wintertime of a night.

Wakes a nocturnal bird

Which distributes its wings to a flight.

The claw is still seeking its first prey.

Its first quarry still evading

Evading head and her haunting memory.

Home jump metropolis evening

The Anubis sit downs at the door.

Yonder, the enchantment of rising moon.

The metropolis with sighing fogs.

Look back at it and provender the Anubis

Another twenty-four hours of your life.

Open the window of your room.

Let the creeping pollens of death

The contaminated pose come.

She makes not raise her tired eyes

At the degree of you.

Her custody shows warm foods

Those you debris down your body.

Fool's eden is sparking before your eyes.

Bend the channels.

Anubis sit downs at the door.

Moon mourns for being bound on a metropolis sky.

You cannot bend to another life.

The face

A face he have got seen somewhere.

A face without a nametag,

Waves of memory's ocean

Becomes boisterous in vain.

Some confronts make not have names.

He appraises its known features,

He cognizes that he cognizes it close.

A face he have seen somewhere.

In a autobus of public assembly?

In a tubing to underworld?

In a route with shadows to whisper?

In a topographic point of toiling sunshine?

In a distant island of bluish dream?

In a memory beyond a life?

A face he have seen somewhere.

Closely and within whispers.

His sad finger's grave touching on

The brow of it lingers.

A touching that withstands vagueness

You cognize you cognize you cognize it.

Have he seen it in a mirror?

First language

"My first linguistic communication is poetry

Second is English."

He spoke. His caput was somewhere else.

A window with shines,

A radiance screening greenness sycamores.

His interviewer,

Asking about his place and fireplace

Looked at his subject.

The poet and a adult male looking

At the distant void.

Questions failed to be translated

To the poet's language.

Climbing down

The dark step had scared her.

Mother's bosom used to be sought.

Solace, oh, deep solace!

A space to bury head

Like an Ostrich.

She happens floating message of memory

On a bottle from ancient age.

Her cold fingers catches

The rails of long and brilliant stair.

Fear, oh fearfulness don't go back here

For she have to climb

To nowhere.

A distant sound of tintinnabulation cell

Rising very near from her manus bag

Head sings.

A bird of perplexity sit downs on her shoulder.

She have to climb.


The dark step had scared her.

She retrieves this clearly.

Now in a human race without a mother

Her phone call have taken her

To a flooring above.

She have been there.

Then why now?

The dark stair.

A step to an old floor, mossy.

She cognizes the wild fingers of her old boss

Creeping on the flooring above.

Mother, oh mother

Open your oral cavity and sallow her.

His small town house.

Ducks garner to share foods,

A pool of lost dews,

On the greenish prevarication our asleep minds.

Minds evaporates to form

Gathering distant clouds.

A driblet of philosophy.

Doctrine is a cat

Reclining lazy

On a sofa of warm comfort.

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