tomb to kill

dissimilar views he doesn’t handle well

clashing openly like dogs of two kinds
with any who do not hold his outlook
ending in two camps that never assemble

similar visions also don’t go too well

for the like poles oppose one another
as women cutting throat of each other
never leaving space for an additional

single self, survives not on surface

drowning in water too deep
and in no account shows its face
making the very self a tomb to kill

© henry victor     24.03.2003

sailing on words

moods puzzled me those days of no words

and had not mastered rhyme or breaking lines

those days i was a slave to my bad temper

today i sail on winds of my moods

now i long for displeasure and time

knowing my skill to transform tempest

into songs of pleasure that pleases a heart

making soul dance non-stop now

pain in current times i consider precious

unlike then in vain i struggled to sing

for now poetry flows easily like water fall

pushing with force to express all my pain

© henry victor     23.03.2003

John the Baptist

 

John the Baptist grabbed no chair to sit

nor pleased any powers or towers of his times

he was simply a voice from the desert

the strongest reed of the prairie crust

John was the music of vales and hills

and cherished not the herds of cowards

he danced not to beats of country drums

nor cared for the civilized city thumbs

John was a sensitive stethoscope

listening to heart beats of the divine

dancing in the spirits of the poor

resizing, re-leveling hill with valley

© henry victor     02.04.2003

i write a poem

sometimes i quickly write a poem

when a dagger has pierced my heart

or a mercy has reached my soul

making it dance to rhythmic refrain

other times i struggle to pen a verse

when desire to discipline is high

or to daughter exhibit my brain

making her evolve into a genius

on occasion i compose rhyming lines

when my ego is bloated too big

to remain small, humble and modest

making easy and empty expeditions

© henry victor     23.03.2003

a courageous chase

i was scarcely seven! i remember

my father, a soldier, a thunder

chasing a burglar sneaking to thieve

chicken in middle of moon lit night

in that unlit rural village

the following morning others strutted

my father’s foolhardiness

as i chanted his courage

and when my daughter was seven

the same drama unfolded, demanding

my heroic act! but miles away

in this excessively lit hamlet

and i, a frightened chicken, woke my wife

to let the crook know occupants awake

to switch on security lights; others beamed

my wisdom as i cogitated my cowardliness

© henry victor     04.04.2003

invite

it is the dead that invite

me to their table

as the living twitch

their nostrils

whining that odour

the lack of success my body yields

even as my mind

now ploughs chive and garlic fields

to spice and fill my thoughts

with heart healthy food, to dance

beauty despite pain and death

kicking out luck, that chance

© henry victor        13.08.2017

nothing

i dreamt, last night, my fat holder

my purse; morning i heard the masses

calling it hope, the spring flower

to settle before my death my debt

since all i was firmly determined

this noon i opened my wallet

like tilling my ground, my garden

the summer fruits to harvest, only

to find the warden has hidden

all, leaving me with nothing

only the unpaid rising to drown

my mind, my dream, my everything

© henry victor        13.08.2017