Monday, May 30, 2011

A faraway town


Between the rows

               beside the mounds

       above the tombs he knows so well,

                              the tombs so dark, the tombs so cool,

               that pull him down

                       and bend him ’round

one frayed shoelace at a time, one copper-colored eyelet,

               a faraway town (without any news)

                              where no two flowers are the same, even by name,

                       no two dreams,

               no creaking boards (in a floor is his muse)

       he runs aground —

                                     Brother! Brother! Brother!

       (those without names, the most human of sounds)

                       .


7 comments:

Akeith Walters said...

Very moving, Mr. M.

Old 333 said...

Quite something. Thanks, William.

William Michaelian said...

Hello, Gray. Thank you, kind sir.

Always nice of you to come around, Peter. Thanks.

winged dreams! said...

Want to engrave my name in this eternal wall creation. I love this creator and his creations.

Bitch said...

Beautiful and sad.
Which is going hand in hand (mostly).

lines n shades said...

loved reading this.. exquisite writing..

William Michaelian said...

Hither, I’m honored. Thank you.

Hi, Monika. It’s all part of the fabric, I guess.

Aparna, thank you very much.