three four nine

three four nine that number  compose

for someone else, to me, too have made

we are into digits and no more

for want, i type a numerical code

earlier integer was only for creatures

behind bars, considering them much less

than persons, but today all figures:

for we are no more humans with souls!

our figures those days had a fine face

and good sounding exclusive forename

but now the appliance knows our face

by plain numeral, or its combination

© henry victor     11.03.2003

dandelion

uncluttering i prayed for, several times,

in my cave, an increased hollowness
in my inner self, that void in the flower
yellow and smart, first to beat the winter

claiming hope, a spring, surviving summer:

a witness to the egoless divine incarnation
brushed aside as a bastard, a commoner
unlike the pompous popes and sly power

conniving with priests and lay at all times

with a pogrom on souls with colorful idols
unreal, unnatural that can never match muscle
in your colour, oh dandelion, my role model

pulling me, and mine, from spiritual sloth

while your jagged leaves are a reassurance
for my broken life, uneven lines of poetry
floating in my heart, my empty soul

winging, like your petals, with no destination;

but only those men and women teaching
children to gallop fast like horses with blinkers
hold you in contempt, as weed, a nuisance

buzzing like honey bees, or jumping like rabbits

others, like me, consider you manna from above
or, your roots to heal, and leaves and flower
for more in milking cows, a providence

henry victor     06.06.2002