It is based on facts. I had seen a woman loitering on the railway platform in quest of lowly paid customers to sell her body to get her daily square meal. Now I don't see her anymore...
grown grass, perspiring summer never
raineth, like a cracked mirror
you see your outer disguise out of the burning heat,
in cold fear that has yet to reach the dead end
you, Sabina, never know which way the early peace
will ever be raining. And the cloistered fire
will be growing long grass in perspiring summer, you
are the reigning signora of that horsetrading kingdom
that knocks the night out of your days.
Yes, that is you, Sabina, that is you.
You have chased the summer, not
knowing the humus of the crossroad chasing you
from nowhere, as if that will take off its
wings to spray a silence of death, as you have
already left your bowing shadows
in the winds of cold fear. And you, like a cracked mirror,
see yourself in amorphous clouds, undressed by
hands of an early peace waywardly drawn to the long length
of high sighs and goggling eyes of hissings...
But you, Sabina, never fell back upon the hind sign.
That was you, Sabina, that was you
who died all for an early peace that was never there
and the perspiring summer never raineth
nor the cold fear had grown old
nor the silver grass grows out of the early peace
in cloistered violence, never, so never...
Poetry by Kamaruzzaman
Read 634 times
Written on 2014-09-23 at 20:47
Tags Poverty Hunger Pains
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Sabina: In Quest of An Early Peace, In Perspiring Summer
Early peace has nevergrown grass, perspiring summer never
raineth, like a cracked mirror
you see your outer disguise out of the burning heat,
in cold fear that has yet to reach the dead end
you, Sabina, never know which way the early peace
will ever be raining. And the cloistered fire
will be growing long grass in perspiring summer, you
are the reigning signora of that horsetrading kingdom
that knocks the night out of your days.
Yes, that is you, Sabina, that is you.
You have chased the summer, not
knowing the humus of the crossroad chasing you
from nowhere, as if that will take off its
wings to spray a silence of death, as you have
already left your bowing shadows
in the winds of cold fear. And you, like a cracked mirror,
see yourself in amorphous clouds, undressed by
hands of an early peace waywardly drawn to the long length
of high sighs and goggling eyes of hissings...
But you, Sabina, never fell back upon the hind sign.
That was you, Sabina, that was you
who died all for an early peace that was never there
and the perspiring summer never raineth
nor the cold fear had grown old
nor the silver grass grows out of the early peace
in cloistered violence, never, so never...
Poetry by Kamaruzzaman
Read 634 times
Written on 2014-09-23 at 20:47
Tags Poverty Hunger Pains
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text
