Epistle Ix - Maroon Mercy
(I)
I am the seer
to whom every nation
is my homeland,
but my own cradle
is a capsized galleon
laid to rest
among the custodians
of the Atlantic's abyss.
(II)
Fortune was a
camel-led caravan
that exhaled
deific brushstrokes
into this carnal tabernacle –
a transient dwelling
for the Franciscan Bedouin
claiming kinship
with a cosmic kingdom
(III)
My life, an open wound
throbbing with chastisement,
but I bleed
maroon-tinted mercy
for those who hurl stones
towards me
(IV)
I lay claim to a
treasure chest
void of silver luster,
but filled with an
opulence beyond the reach of
the sultan, the emperor, or
Czars of Mother Russia
(V)
Death is the tidal wave
that collapses against
my rocky shores,
hastening me to
blossom towards
higher planes,
as my fellowship unfurls
like an ocean of violets
in bloom
Copyright © Shiraz Bautista | Year Posted 2023
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
Please
Login
to post a comment