Treasure Island

kelvin karani


My lines lie there, impotent
Meaningless monologue to disinterested listeners
The wise fools piously defy the gospel of the poet
People prefer priests and politicians
They love the lies they are told
We are pilgrims here on earth, says the priest
A new earth! shouts the politician; its gone, the old!
They go home to boiled mangoes and savor the feast.

The sheep are about in wolves skins
The antichrist looks like Jesus twin
He heals the sick, the blind see; miracles!
The wolves preach salvation to all who want to sin.

Courageous cowards march with the antichrist
They choke in the dust of priests and politicians
Singing empty songs of redemption down the street
Waiting for a kind of second coming; fools!

When the day bids them farewell
They troop to their inhabitable hives
Vagabonds lie on the streets. Their heads
Swell with pains and problems untold. Helpless
they lie, wishing for another death.

What is a poet and writer to do
When all the ink in his pen
Is wasted on paper people won't go through
I'll rather board an imaginary plane
Fly to a land where people listen
Where poets and writers
Are the only priests and politicians!

Submitted: Monday, March 23, 2009
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