Poems
The Termite Their dead ones still on the road Will lead you to the old lovely House In which beauty with eternity shares a room From the dark depth of nowhere They break the eggs and go And in peace your soft breath lies on the nativity pillow Too drunk by the wine of dream To see the marching termites Too benumbed to touch their head Chained to the enduring bites Termite the Conqueror; Before your eyes Blind by the ball of daze Your ears Deaf by the uproar and chews Ruin your old wooden House With all its delights and grieves Smiling then, with twinkling eyes Make a line again, and leaves, To lay the eggs somewhere in Time… *********** Ehsan ehsan2kaf@hotmail.com |
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