With elements of earth, water, air, ether, and fire
The body is framed like a bundle of paradoxes.
The soul, the lord, and the master of this self soar higher.
When its mission, herein, is accomplished as flummoxes
Diseases, like swarms of honey bees, enwrap this physique.
These, like water on lotus leaves, don't affect the spirit.
Though veins, bones, and nutrients are full, the physique seems weak.
Existence, herein, passes like a clandestine claret.
Deep sleep drubs the body, but the spirit is on the move.
Beyond mountains and valleys, like a tender breeze, it blows
From all that is known to the unknown, narrow furrow grove
Journeying towards perfection, like a fountain, it flows
Entering another body, the soul gladly exists.
Physique, as the spirit's wagon, wins over all the twists…
A fine family of foxes,
a feisty mom and her two kits
living near humans by shrewd wits.
Her constant success flummoxes.
Kits are tiny jack-in-the-boxes,
heads bobbing while mom baby sits.
NB: Other - Sextilla: A Sp. stanza form of six octosyllabic or shorter lines. In the classic period, the usual rhyme schemes were abbaab.
Sopranic echoes of silence
Aggravate the complications of my bitterness
The high-pitched voice of muteness
Pricks the inner wound covering my tears
which will only dry when freedom is freed.
A whirlwind and fragment
Of thoughts entirely flummoxes my conscience
When I imagine hand-cuffed and leg-ironed freeom:
Freedom behind bars!
They fought for freedom
Were awarded freedom
Celebrated, dined and wined for and with freedom
Yet when freedom uttered her free thoughts,
Parardoxically they frantically slapped freedom in the face
And silenced her by a battery of diabolic statutes.
The inspired voice of freedom now speaks in silence
Visiting in my dreams like an ancestral instruction
I hear sopranic echoes of silence
Aggravating the complications of my bitterness.
The high-pitched voice of muteness
Pricking the innerwound
Which will omly heal and dry when freedom is freed.