Wednesday, 17 September 2008

A Contemporary Polity Of Mind

Tip-toeing on a string with balloons I never asked for
The dishes are served though there's no menu
And yet all I can think of is if that's it
Like I'm in some dream where everyone speaks Hebrew
The outlines will be drawn to force the picture to fit
Hoping that the maturity of night will sober the day
Ceasing the labels and finally we'll sway
Back to the times when poems still rhymed
And the songs that we sung rang in unison
There is a shadow that belongs to no one
Who stalks the streets that have no name
And I don't want this to get to my head either
For hearts may flutter for reasons that never cross
In a moment when shrivelled blessings are counted
So the time is whiled away in scholarly clothes
As the eager are woefully kept on their toes

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