The Village Poem by Nero CaroZiv

In the village where I usually stroll along in its streets and live
An ominous plot against me is put into high contrive
These villagers do not like whoever is not rich as their vague glamour
They hold deep rancor to whoever does not march and sing their tunes and hummer

I would not let you for long guess or think
What would happen if into their hand a silk noose will sink
Right upon my fragile neck they will happily let it fall
As they push and tight me against an ancient stone wall

Once when my leg by the river side was broken
No one stopped by to offer any help or even a wordy token
Beneath an old oak by the village side
I sat in long weeping session, in front of the whole village wide

There was no one to ask me why I wept
And so for hours under summer heat I kept
Brimming the water-lily cups with tears
Dry and cold as my immense ominous fears

In other time when walking innocently down village streets
A guy passed me by and kicked my butt as a vile treat
He laughed and encouraged his fellow to follow the same drag
But the other poor wished he could, since he was missing a leg

Those people of village who are unassumingly friendly and kind
They are who will not put an obstacle out of a mockery sooth
In front of my legs since practically in plain truth
They are themselves disabled, feeling the streetblind

If a thick noose falls into their hands
That will be my dire end
If they see me in the forest among the wood clear
They will shoot me as if I was another deer


And those who will not mock
Me are simply mute, they use their look
And around they go to hide behind a rock
With some friends who are deaf and cannot rebuke


Oh gentle folks of hostess village who owes a grudge
To my calm and unintegrated, unmingled distant existence
Stay on your own hellish foolish trudge
In spite of my unprovoking survival persistence





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