My Mother's House

There is no water in my mother’s well
And someone else, already, occupied her house as well
While she, to the new home, has forever gone
And my father too, will go there soon

My father retired at the age of forty-two
After serving the national army for years twenty-two
I decided not to return to my mother’s place at forty-two
After living and enjoying it for years thirty-two

Into my mother’s well, once I fell
To remember that, forever, very well
The house she lived was twice destroyed
Once by cyclone, and the next, by pogrom of genocide

About her house, my mother’s thought, I shall never know
For sure, her well, quenched my thirst, and also more
While her house, provided space, for me to explore

And at the end, to my mother’s place, I shall go

Henry Victor 18.08.1992

Another Poet!

Time moves swiftly like a rolling stream
Waiting not for me, or for my pal
Carrying with it only the top soil
Leaving behind persons in vain dream

I, a lousy sheep, roll on warm bed
Letting go the moving with no dam
Chasing flies sitting on lazy ram
Without, to that goal, running ahead

At best, I cry for that spilling milk
Like a poet composing empty words
At worst, I’m like those still, naughty gods
Unconcerned for those weaving fine silk

Henry Victor 09.05.2003