A ram without womb

You know my phrases hang in the air
When you waltzed your tight waist away
Our hearts are bleeding
And now we are ageing without shoulders

They carved a law to build a past
We stood before the edge and blocked our bleeding
The scars didn't heal. Did they?

You have learned to waltz your waist
And I have learned to stain the air with phrases

But I am only a ram. I have no womb.
I have no past. I built no empires for the future.
I can hoot. But you root the horns.

They carved a law to build your past.
And you bared your breast at me
The silly heart forgets. it is only a pawn
The silly heart will buy its defeat at the feet of the priest
I will bleed again to the alter
Then trapped in a golden ring

I am only staining the air with hanging phrases
Bring your price - and I will die again
I am already forty. I am counting my fading hair.
I am not a hero
Heroes don't return
Neither can I dare you, my root.

I am still eager

I have kept late nights
scattering speeches in moonlights
and tall flowers had  answered in silence

I have recited, evoked the spirit of the wise, wild and water
---and  tall flowers had mirrored your silence

My toes have tossed the mid-night dances
along dark paths
deep contours lit by fire-flies...
I have encountered the spirits of the nights
And I'm still eager

In the day time
When kidnappers tiptoed with big bags of slavery
I have wandered
searched along lengthy paths
I have stumbled, recoiled,
Groped beneath big trunks...
asked questions
and I have broken the pot of silence
...my first visit

But the mountain still mounts
The mountain builds mounds after a climb

I may be the wandering tiger
I may be the expectant beast
I may be the lion prowling
And each mount reinforces my quest

I am still eager
For I have broken the pot of silence
I am still eager
For the mountain has less sand to mount.

She came like the wind

She came like the wind
Fluttering the past about her
Some she fell before me in a cloud
Some she scattered about in her throaty laughter

She came at the last hour where my fleet flew in the wind. She stretched the wind
She folded the wind into a bag
_and laughed again.

Signs

I am a poet
signing my silence in blood.
a poet singing of you
signing my silence in the wind.