headlights in the rain
day rotting, streets slick with rain, headlights
speak of long distance, journeys abroad, and
homecoming-
an empty cemetery road, headstones
riddled with tears, funeral precessions:
the barren field of an eye,
she weeps
she weeps
she weeps
.....
momma used to tell me:
' quarter faith dear Aammie, that's all you need-
quarter faith child, will in times of despair, sustain'
I find it awkward now, believing in an unseen hand,
as days progress into years
all that was left to me are memories- that
and photographs of nameless faces, legends
of ancestors who are my history-
they will survive us.
I remember being drunk on self-disillusion,
fat on hope that was merely a glimpse at
the crack in reality- we all know is there,
a world of no worldly possession.
The pieces never fit exactly,
I live in an ordinary age-
for those lost days I recite:
' and all the king's horses and all the king's men
couldn't put him back together again'
I find myself grounded now, here
in this rural state-of-mind,
surrounded by graves which bear my own name.
intoxicated by words, that serve as
a tiny testimony of life:
once upon a time, in a dream like state-of-mind
someone existed, someone
who lived and breathed and
had the ache of a heartbeat.
after the curtain falls, doubt is what comforts.
The only knowledgably proof-of-life is a shoebox
tucked neatly beneath my bed of nails titled: ' I miss you '
I guess it's safe to suppose, that's enough,
while I contemplate a sunset, and
another round of hell-
at the end of this road, when it forks
I understand it's all I have left,
this and a penny I tossed into a well,
leaving it for the day to grieve against.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem