Central Village #2
You do not know still my Nazareth
Nor what good thing too, from there did come
Paint not its poverty with regret
Nor hold to it her life for ransom
In the pangs of pain the pearl is made
Beauty from the grit of nagging sand
Central Village is my oyster laid
Where the sugarcane wade green the land
And there the fishers come full of greed
And the reef grows pale, and children cry
And guns bark like dogs revealing need
And then they divide them so they die
Man apart from man withering trust
Houses and dreams to shambles fallen
A city's civil hope in disgust
Strewn like waste paper where streets darken
And from the litany of their fear
The inner bleeding of their old wounds
Some discomfort may to us appear
Contentment, purpose, or crazy loons
But open this oyster, see the gem
The beauty of her stones from soft tears
The brightness of my proud diadem
The resilience for which love cheers
O Central Village, my little hope
The fervent garden of my prayer
Oyster's metaphor, character's trope
The tree that yields my seed desire
Memory wanders in dust again
Through your evening its dream to reclaim
Jesus came to Nazareth, not in vain
He blessed the bride, and I'm not the same.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
