Zhian Mostofi Poet Lyric

Sea Merchant

Time comes in waves,
People, in places.
Words come out of their shells
as true colours always change them.
God is given to glory,
to glory- destination lands in two:
In the right hand of a creature that has breached its reading code
And in the eyes of a teacher,
leading a school of fish back through the fundamental basics

The latter lathers loosely on linguistic intent
For intent is driven by lifeboats
that write the shores as landing in them,
just so.

The reader's digest delivers intelligence as notes on a keyboard;
Consequently who plays the creativity of the boats tends back to the reader
quite a mouthful

After all, people are people
True colours will drive them around the world.
How yesterday's conclusions reach tomorrow,
is a mere hum
lodged in the back of your throat.

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