Short Occident Poems

S    U    N
S    E    T
W    A   Y...

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The little song-bird is still
Fluttering by the calm hill
Of a wide countryside;
To death the bees have buzzed.

The lingering clouds are yet to yield;
Still protesting in the wild airy field;
Yon young beads of rain left to mourn:
To the grey occident your entreaty moan;

So far the countryside is a proud fen:
She happily woos a bunch of selfish men
Now the majestic sea bewails their calm hill:
That tomb that still spells to men: “Kill!”...

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Darest V.C. –
Did not we notice their appearance?
Did not we hear the elders speak?

Darest V.C. –
We saw their assorted trumpets
With assorted chameleon voices they came;

Some: mere relics of the ancient tree;
Some: mere effigies of the orient tree;
Some: mere voices of the occident tree;

From far off the vendors spoke
 – Performing rustic rites in city shrines! –

Darest V.C. –
Then spoke the vendors to the heavy ears of the gods:
“Let the birds to the communal nest again.”...

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