Fluent as a rill, that wanders silver-footed down a hill,
Their manifestos raised our burried hopes from sepulchres,
Glittering like an aigrette of stars,
We believed they were refined gold.
Indeed, they deserve our patriotism and mandate,
Wholeheartedly, we gave them,
While hoping to enjoy the dividends of democracy.
Surprisingly, it came and faded like a wreath of mist at eve,
Suffering and smiling like well fed slaves,
But our cheeks are furrowed and writhen like rain-washed crags,
Our tear drops like water from an abandoned statue,
We have been neglected and underdeveloped,
It stung like a frozen lash.
The past is dotted with poverty, blood, sweat and pain,
The future is blurry and uncertain,
Like a mirage, vague, dimly seen at first,
Yet, we are still fighting and dying,
To eradicate corruption, nepotism, favouritism and sectionalism from our society,
But it's as futile as to oppose an earthquake with argument.
Deep in the woods of central Maine,
Schoodic Lake lies placid and pristine,
Its limpid, pure waters lapping against
Shores of boulders crowned with cedars,
Whose grey, writhen trunks and roots,
Clinging doggedly to the lichen-streaked stone,
Resist the winds from off the lake,
Resist the blizzards of countless deep winters,
Resist the inescapable ravages of time.
The waters of the lake are cold and clear—
As if newly born of distant melting glaciers,
Or gushing up from unseen springs, far beneath.
They say the lake is bottomless--
Its serene surface an expressionless face,
Beneath which tempests, passions unguessed,
Might bubble, and froth, and rage,
Before at last sinking out of our ken.
The lake, mirrorlike, reflects the tree-girt skies,
Rippling gently, and seems at peace:
But who can know what that visage hides,
Where, far below, those umplumbed depths
Conceal mysteries -- profound, immemorial,
Unknown, and ultimately-- unknowable.
April 4, 2019
~With Exstacy~
To'ed thee, with'in thee,
what twas that which is writhen me?
To'ed twass that which was,
was writen as it was in life
to be behold'eth thee in thy Eye's.
To that which is now,
to hold thee, to'ed thee snow's
in thy heart,
with exstacy.
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