remaining un-public

as dust insignificant am i, doing nothing
these days, except sitting like a rock
in middle of the stream, that public life
flowing fast without my feet walking

and unlike those with electronic equipment
seated on ground as if grounded to reality
discoursing, but beyond my senses, a living-
out in full the modernity with mere pressing

of buttons, while i amass old postage stamps,
hoping gold coins suddenly appear from sand,
a dream with no great earthly value to strengthen
a dam to collect wealth to transact, to remain public

henry victor     05.03.2013

just in

each morning i wake with your gentle pat
that floats in the dawn light lightly touching
my cheeks and forehead after a good night
sleep with you beside, sleepless, watching

over my feeble frame with that anxious soul
fearful of the faltering arteries, vessels capable
of blocking, or clotting blood that streams
through to keep together the nightly dreams

that i at dawn may pet, pat another soul revealing
your essence, demanding me to bend down
to kiss him sleeping beside after repeated rolling
to lodge my pillow and with his arm to hug to own

henry victor     01.03.2013