pen

when

there

is

nothing

to

pen

why

scratch

head

like

a

hen

scratching

ground

that

has

no

worm

making

her

poetic

cluck

cluck

and

cluck

sleep

and

if

woken

by

a

hen-pen

early

tomorrow

words

will

flow

from

pen

as

eggs

from

hen

henry victor     11.08.2002

release me for sleep

i am tired, feeling drained

much talking and more silence
like Elijah, hence, i turn to you for you
to take me out of the world full of woe!

not that i detest hurt; but pain

with wisdom i lack in my hand
taking none to the target; and
miracle, i know, you decline!

winged angels, i feel

no more; if so, why not
to me you incline
ears, and let me to you go

for evildoers life is easy, i know

they are quick in wit
and spring from a hollow
soon to set up their might!

a battle i won

a battle i won
without fighting my enemies

those thousands of black

green-bugs
that invaded my new home
with no fence
nor other defence
frightening my frail folks
and peace loving self
that too on the very day
i moved in, totally unprepared for a war

but i fought them

not with ammunition, or a sharper weapon
but with compassion
providing them in plenty
their drinking water
their eventual grave