by the waters of the Pacific

by the waters of the Pacific

i sat down and wept
as i remembered the hundreds
of immigrants cheated
and let down by a culture of bigotry

on the weeping willows

i hung up my violin
and my cymbals refusing
to sing the songs of plenty and freedom

in valleys of the Rockies

and in spacious prairies my Caucasian
hosts wanted me to sing
some songs of joy

but, how shall i sing

the song of joy and freedom
in a land where the colour of your skin
matters the most

if i forget my rights let my right hand

wither and if i forget my honour
let my tongue cleave to the roof
of my mouth

if i do not remember your discrimination

or, if i do not set my rights above my joy
let me perish in this alien land

blessed is that one who takes up the cause

of colured immigrants and does not dash
their hope on the rock of prejudice

henry victor     27.05.2002

 

destiny

my journey is long and the destination

deludes my heart filled with overflowing
craving desires as my mind, consciously
consider, calculate the remaining energy

left within my soul, the engine

of my being, frequently, designing a devious
corridor to enter the destined destiny
to destruction, a creative construction

henry victor     06.06.2002

 

tasted life, or wasted

i waited for my ship’s sailing

that never left the harbor, and i wasted
my time watching noisy gulls flapping
and fretting and sliding and singing

and i returned home regretting

spending those hours not learning
the skill of pearl-fishing, or to practice
netting fish to fatten my wallet

when i return then to my beginning, my end

will i be considered as one wasted, or tasted
life, I know not, for going only with the music
of my sisters, fellow creatures, in my soul

henry victor    05.06.2002

you and me

absent in your person and subtle
in your work, for you profit

or loss is immaterial but my heart
hungers as wit wires my soul for gain

as if to carry away to the beyond

to that world of nothing like a monkey
meanly pushing grain, fruit, and nuts
into those pouches, stuffing speedily

before climbing higher to a higher

branch hoping to carefully avoid
in this present height, this world
the loss of funds, faith, and my face

henry victor     06.06.2002

 

finding mine

spring, i know, certainly follows winter

and you, with your inscrutable will, demand
absolute submission from me, and to me
you promise mercy, grace, and prosperity

as you outpoured the same to Abraham

Job and Jesus, not merely mythical figurines
and pieces of playful poetic ploy, inspiring
a waiting for your offerings with patience

while on my part, as a traveler of a pathless

path i have knocked every alien door
with the hope of finding my chair to rest
my feet continuing to trek your subtle trail

henry victor     05.06.2002

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

 

my daughter, my love

a little leech leapt on me

and sucked a little blood
yet i stroked her with a little love
while the little leech crept into my heart

22.12.2013