nothing

nothing i regard with importance

to nothing that i am now a slave

gold i seek not, women i care not

triumph i prize not, kings too stir me not

collapse frightens me not, nor poverty

wealth and lust keep aging with time

leading, sure, to death before i die

teaching me i last longer than these

even eternity is beyond me to grasp

and i crave not for that nonentity

myself is, indeed, only lees and scum

and it’s not worth that careful caring

© henry victor     03.05.2003

at the edge

most of the moments these days

i am free of that terminal illness
the masses name, ‘healthy hope’!

these days i let my intuition and pangs

guide me when and where i catch
my crabs, creatures with protest
eventually yielding to my cravings!

at the edge neither the rules

written down by the modern
aristocrats nor noises the masses
spit out direct my directions!

from nothingness to nothingness

i slide with no care
like a kid on the slide
in the urban playground!

and at the edge of my ridge

with neither wants nor hope i stand
with readiness to exchange
the loin cloth, my present pair of pants
for my birthday suit, to let go my pant!
 
henry victor      04.05.2014

building your rule

my mind just for a moment, like a bee

on the flower, grazes along your throne, the grace!
yet, i like you to exert, to dictate, with force
the journey, the direction and content of  my soul
 

with its luggage, my being to build your rule
uprooting my heart from amidst that rat race
of erecting larger ware houses, storage space
storing the harvest of abundance with tilted scale

that also renders your seat irrelevant in a world

where Jesus and his colleagues receive a lip deal,
and no more, in a scope where shopping for gold
is, for someone on the trail, a substantial meal

henry victor     14.08.2013

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