stop to breathe

‘creative writing’ has become my breath

while relating to people to find something

common like the ‘Good Samaritan’ sympathetic

to man stuck on road from Jerusalem to Jericho

speaking hence to Amber, Ashley, Arsha

Brian, Brenda, Bethusha, Beeby, Benji

and other children screaming and shouting

as they run to the ice cream vendor

and i stop not so much to fix the jammed

ice cream car, knowing well my ignorance

of motor mechanics, but to feel the pain

of man stuck on roads

and admire his patience and persistence

to make the machine work

though he carries not the tools

but a heart for children of rich shy folks

drowning in self-sufficiency

considering themselves more important

than a bard who stops to record

the pulsating heart; nay, to breathe!

henry victor    02.09.2002

loss of my land

i was proud of my land

water clogged and swampy

cost me a small song

but providing a great opportunity

to establish my nonconformity

i cherished the three trees that came

with the swamp: a young Palmyra palm

a Neem, and a Wood Apple

supplying me shade and hope

i saw the trees growing faster

as i fertilized and poured plenty of water

from my own well sunk in my plot

that i, with my own hands, proudly dug

now i think of King Coconuts i planted

watered, and carefully cared

from assaults of those crawly beetle

attacking palms, my babies thrived so well

and of these assets i constantly muse

day dreaming of this past slog

i, at the end, exchanged for a nose stud

causing, within, much anger of the loss

© henry victor     14.02.2003

living nightmare

my waking from slumber was too sudden

also, announcing others, my companions

in journey, about the entrance of our train

at the destination, with effects to un-board

before the carriage is shunted to the yard

to be locked for hours, may be for days

before becoming a carrier of another herd

in ride to a distant land, a different moment   

 

but it was nightmarish to unclutter dream

filled minds, purposeless lives, lumped

in the baggage of laziness with scattered

shoes and stocks of habitual procrastination

© henry victor            24.06.2014