The grave is beating a drum,
but the dancers are not dancing well.
The deaf ears have heard the vociferations of death;
His ghoul knocks banging on heart’s doors.
The doors of an empty hands.

Let it never over come
because these hands are empty.

They amass no gold
or silver.
They have counted no pecuniary;
the values not known.
Their eyes have seen no glitters
and their hearts known no pleasure and delights.

The head is a grave
of creative worms,
that nothing has exhumed from its cemetery.

But its empty hands
must be filled with the rains of a filled head.


Leave a Comment

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s