The mist descends pon no mans land
Where trees stripped of pride
Are forced to stand
Theres always a grey area to loiter
Where there are no resounding guns
No christmas celebrations
No firecrackers
Nor
Crossing to play ball in the central reservation
No beautiful bodies on muddied grounds
Just the bitter sight of a mist descended over this green
And precious land
One stands in the middle
Of a purple haze
Head bowed in grievous acceptance
Grazed knees
Hands in pockets kicking dust
Aching
Aching
Aching
Where the pains of love which were
So long forgotten
Lust
Which were a revelation
Just beautifully ached
Now
However
Reshaped
They remain, the tummy pains
Yet have switched sides
Now understood as self destruction for self preservation
One should never fall for the enemy
The eyes who can steal
A heart
One should always raise pon gritted knee
And scramble back
Off to the start
Oh yes
The mists descends pon no mans land
A delicate haiku of trees
Barren, sparse
Lost
Lime green leaves
But my darling at least we stand
So No man lands is a interesting place. Stop a war is always a good option do do! ! ! Even for one day! ! ! !
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
It is some how a metaphor for life and its ephemeral nature, this place this existence where we each scramble for a hold on and battle for love and life, but ultimately the life the land upon which we stake the greatest claim is lost from each and all it is at best a too early and feeble fleeting possession. Life is the no mans land, we love and hate, have war and truces, but ultimately it is lost to us, it is no mans land, just a passing territory of dubious tenure. A great write my friend. An extraordinary episode from our brutal indifference.