There are times at which I wonder
On the fabric of our souls.
All there is that they may gather
All the puddles of our roads.
Lonely paths are sealed with silence,
Dropping tears just like the rain.
Ghostly forest of the slumber
‘Mid the fears and the pain.
And the air through the trees
That are dead now- doesn’t matter -
Just so breezing by the leaves
Makes it feel like scent of laughter.
-Dreams of flowers have you had-
Lively orchids in your garden;
But their memory’s so sad
And now weights down like a burden.
Wanderer! Have you not been
Travelling the very essence?
What was it that you have seen,
The Great Answer, or the Nonsense?
You walk now through all those ruins
That have been your temples – high –
Mud is flowing on the statues
On their eyes stabbing the sky.
What’s now left of your greatness,
Of your pride as strong as steel?
Why’s your sight gazing with madness,
Why is it that you can’t feel?
Anymore, anymore.
No more feelings. Nevermore.
No more hope and expectation
No more marvel of creation.
No more light – into the darkness –
We just burry our sin
In the marshes with deep waters
Shall we sink – never to live,
(19.01.08, Cluj_Napoca)
Baaz Monk
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/again-31/
