arms to embrace

you have given me much moons

and plenty of many an opportunity

yet i remain absolutely empty

but pleading from you for more!

awake now my soul! for it is time

to rise from sleep and slumber

to un-hoard the clutter of desire

in that nothing, the ego, act as if all

instead stretch your arms to embrace

the homeless, the hermits, the marginal

and the bleeding, walking also to the jail

to set free the broken-wing birds to fly!

© henry victor       02.01.2016

made-able

he is tall, and taller than me

fairer too, with a fatter purse

an allowance monthly, three

times mine, yet walking behind me

or alone, like a homeless beggar

about to fall on the road, hence

needing a stronger prop;

despite the schooling, the bigger

expense paid in full by the state

still he can neither count beans

nor make sense of the weed and wheat

in what he reads there on the slate

he can, for sure, see a dime on ground

even thirty feet ahead of him

but a sparrow on the fence front of him

always is black and will never be found

numbers dead and weapons of the world

war two, for sure, he knows it well, exact

facts and with assertive faith will proclaim

it too, but his potentials are a different world

© henry victor      22.08.2015

that depth

she carried a deeper sea

none, not even she

has ever, in full, explored that depth

further, thickly she has veiled

the surface, her face covered

that none may see her cry, or smile

she like Maryam was willing

to bear the Word of God, killing

not what needs to be revealed

fearing not the heretical thoughts

bred by men of power and wallets

living what she heard in that depth

© henry victor      20.06.2016

celebrating a nature wak

he cycles behind me

and at times in front

on my old walking trail

my new convert

a way for my bicycle!

on it he feels very free

to litter it with his voice

a noise of joy of a six year old boy

but with a precision

that school teachers use!

a mosquito, a daddy-long-legs

alias crane fly

a cricket, a butterfly

now a dragon fly

before stopping to stomp

stamping hard his foot

proclaiming his hatred for ants

arguing they are fire ants

further forcefully announcing

they sting and i must kill the queen!

he complaints too, and loud

the litter on the ground

a sure way, he says, to kill

the city of champions

pausing suddenly for the dead mallard!

he believes in picking

the lifeless bird to put

in the way-side garbage

a bin in which his grandfather

earlier, dropped the broken bottle!

finally he arrives to play

to overcome any leftover boredom

he throws grass blades and dry weeds

into the pond tricking ducks with fake food

from where he will return home!

© henry victor       20.08.2015