His mute body lies unmoving,
What silent screams and quiet songs
Lurk deep in those faded onyx orbs
Behind sooty veils of lashes,
And tears waiting for the inevitable fall.
A desert wells inside him –
Hot sand, dry breeze
His flesh, hollowed out, crinkles
Like mud-cake baking in mem’ries of youth;
But no more for him – no more.
To the dust! To the ground!
The lure of the earth entices
But stubborn, his grip endures;
Thus, Life beats him inside out
To cower the spirit; to break his will.
And no more for him
Each breath, a little death,
Each sunrise, a struggle
Until the red of sunset takes over
And tranquil, the worm waits.
But how sad to think this is final
There must be more than dust and grime
Such beauty, such blissful entity
Wasted on worms and fungi
Surely, there’s more…