Zhian Mostofi Poet Narrative

Sacrificial Ritual

All answers want to be given unto you
As swiftly as you can illustrate them
Point to their essence, serenade them
Aboard this passing ship, my view casts not a glare, nor reflection, nor stare,
Roaming freely as the Earth through the timeless air

My outer shell is my greatest inception
Yet as time comes to a crashing halt,
The faintest glimpse of the Strange and the Familiar approach together 
As the rime of my belt

A horticulturist’s dream says I 
The blackened period that wallows alive
Deprived, sanctioned and walking the line
As our guest is herded out
And suddenly the animal turns its other side

Now in your stomach I wait
Leaving a silent trail of breadcrumbs
Leading to the foothills of the gates
Who, discovery alluded, hadn’t a face

I am after all a sarcastic utterance
Which after years fade into the gloaming of dawn,
Reveals itself a mutterance undone

A muse, a choice, a song
A faro stow-away,
A shy allurement enclosed in a darker response
Building expeditiously my patient getaway car
Holding stead readily around the block

and clocks fall off their "ATTENTION!"
to the approaching sound of
 someone else's Hum-drumm

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