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Post by Roshan on Aug 15, 2020 19:42:01 GMT -5
Also from the Persian cycle. A dakhma or dakhme is a tower of silence.DakhmaFrom a hole I came To a hole I go We all walk through a tunnel. The way is dark The walls enclose And fear becomes the tunnel. Tower of silence tower of silence Offer me to thy air. Open me up and make me the carrion Free me from my fear. Soon soon fresh and clean The sky shall meet the bone. Iran Zamin Father of Birds expose me to your crows. |
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Post by Roshan on May 25, 2021 13:21:45 GMT -5
Also from that cycle ^
You flow through my veins as you flowed through the veins
the rivers and streams of Eurasia.
And I follow your roads as you followed the roads
the arteries of Eurasia.
And when you recede my own veins, cut, bleed.
But your soul still remains in the rivers and streams
and the visions and dreams
of beloved beloved Eurasia.
The Persia the Persia within.
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Post by Roshan on May 25, 2021 13:32:23 GMT -5
Actually I have to go back and check the spacing on that...
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Post by Roshan on May 30, 2021 9:51:39 GMT -5
From my mid-twenties. Part of the image is how discarded newspapers would be mixed in everywhere with New York's 'yellow snow'
__________________________________________________
THE FIRE MEN
New York is pallid like newsprint in winter
but I have known men who were made of fire.
Extinguishing gladly they burned through their lives. They
were men bathed in red and they lit up the sky. All
their eyes were ablaze with the smell of their deaths and
they raced, speeding, balls, leaving nothing to space.
And blazing their sirens sped by me on fire and
burning and flaming extinguished the sky.
Media citizens palled in puddles
of dogshit and sludge dripping
grayly through gutters
of winter and stinking
and reeking of
weakness and
mud made of cities
of newsprint and
paper
the Meterormen blaze above you on fire.
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Post by Roshan on May 30, 2021 10:00:44 GMT -5
Also ^ mid twenties
The Convent
The nuns are dressed in black and white
like tooth decay.
Shut these cast iron lips, then I should
take my vows of silence,
and decalcify my worship as I slowly
rot away.
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