I Dress The Maskof Desperation Poem by Emmanuel George Cefai

This night
I dress the maskof
Desperation
But not just
That
I dress the skin of desperation
For
Desperation inside me
Circulates snake-like as
An Inner Soul:
I turn my face to the
Heavens
Ask: Why?
A march of the beautiful
Hearkens tonight
Though
Horrid be beautiful included
Too.
The place: a cemetery.
A group of dogs all
Bearing donkey's head
Pass by.
The night burns is
On fire
But the donkey-heads on their
Way
Continue still
Saluting when they meet
Here a ghost there a shroud
Here a satyr there a nymph.
A nymph of small proportions
On the way
Told a dog with a donkey's
Head on meeting him:
‘How will you eat? '
And then
She below his snout
Placed honey pots of
Small content
And of small size
She placed.
But the donkey-heads just said
‘Thanks! '
And went on, on his journey
With the rest.
‘Continue, let us continue, '
Said a toad that wore
Wigs on his head
So small were they
That almost lens to see them
I would need.
Then continued on
The toad of the wigs
Without word
He smiled and silent
Went his way.
You will see, my Monsignor,
How
In verse and song
There be experiment after
Experiment
Now on the subject too,
Then on description,
Then words and dialogue,
Or all, intermixed and
In a treasure-chest, combined.
Then came an ant -
An ant of a group -
That on their head a diadem
Each bore:
So tiny
The diadem that lens
It needed for the sight
And more.
This group of ants all
In fraternity
Went on their way up
A lone street
Amidst the crosses and
The monuments.
Then
Following there came
A group of thorns and
Thistles
They dressed as shrouds
And their heads hid
In small capes whilst
Dividing, on minute
Feet they walked and
Walked slow as the kindred
Ants and more.

As if competing with
The slow ants they
Hurried their steps
But on divided feet
Of tiny growth
They moved indeed
Slow.
Yet
To the glance they looked
Entrancing-beautiful in their
Weird way.
Bird
Of blue eyes and russet
Breast
That on a bush hot
With burning fires
Sat and then a little
More had flown:
I saw it further not.
A few meters away
A three legged dog
Hobbled on tiny legs
So short was he:
So short
His belly almost scraped
The floor wherever he
Passed:
Yet from kindred things
He salutes got
Then
He reciprocated with
A merry grin and sometimes
A small bark
And on his way he hobbled
On.
Ah! how Time flies
This Master that be cruel
This Master that be kind
Ah! how it flies!
The waters darkening after
Sunset
Turn to a twilight tinge
Then
Of short stay till the
Red dusk's short day
The twilight vanishes slow
away
as the dark Night silhouetted
gains the day
at its last closing:
He the Monarch of the
Last of the day and
Of its fading.
The days are long.
The days be short.
The days are cruel
And
The days are kind.
Then in the march
Grotesque and beautiful
There came a tiger-cat
With her a cluster of her
Offspring came
She before they followed
Her.
She was not hooded or
Else dressed grotesque
Yet
Her presence sheer
Made her so
In that place of tears and woe.
The while
As the verses flow
In this new garb and
Rare
Below the night-roof of
The stars that wind and glow.
Think
My Monsignor
There
Be
A
Festive
Mood
In
All
These
Though
In
The
Cemetery
They
Be
Not mournful scowl
For the things of life
Though to the rest related
Be
Are things that set
The mood in every place
Where they act the scene.
Thoughts be away
For
These sights and visions
Have
Their places taken
Momentarily.
The rhythm goes
The verses flow
And add to the merriment
Heart's content.
O Earth
O Mother Earth
O Mother