Tuesday, October 9, 2007

Caliban returned tonight, it’s a happy hour he said
Dreams being spun on the looms of thought are dead
I told him there was a rumor among men
That perchance God is still awake
When will he rest? Leave those thoughts aside
And wear the ebony shroud instead
Let’s play a game of solitaire
Watch how I play to lose
Playing the muted ivory keys
Singing my black man’s blues
Take my mask of harlequin
It fits me ill tonight
I won’t be a tale twice told
Counting stars with blind sight
And death is desired for new life to flower
Your dreams are dead, tis an happy hour
So, wind up, wind up your conditional trust
Before you recoil in the automated shell
Write love-songs while love bites the dust
You are alive yet it feels like Hell
When love is starved and arrested development well fed
Then its time to live, for now your illusions are dead

@ Pranav, thanks for reminding me about it's existence:)

1 comment:

Blabberwocky said...

this is wonderful. Almost fluid. Sad & serene at the same time.
but i thought poetry was limited to the other blog.(which hasn't been updated in a disturbingly long time)