Some good cracks
tired walls, now you're
flogged
black and blue-
time's whipstrokes.
weeds are up, out
to look-
standing tall
holding up this roof,
patience and memory.
walls, walls-
my voice hums in between
and a void
and a swirl felt back:
is there any one standing down?
th' diseased time
with shadows tall merge-
a violent show's at rest.
that he who passes by me
strums lonely feet-
or, murmur of
falling leaves may he be
chased by timewind-
once known
in ceremonies of life-
th' flier of purple kind,
his feather of mind
floats like gleaming stars-
welkin of blue imagination-
authority whistled
here-
command he harvested
from silky youth of sun-
youthfulness, he'd just
love to scatter
like peas-
what more?
what more th' cooked up
story of time
leaves-
this bony half,
bearded face of skinny time
stands aloof
or escapes
like a heavy borrower-
his afternoon
in th' shackles of fears
fade and fade
until a rim of
night and oblivion.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem