he shrugs and smiles at any rate,
the world is as it should be today.
he rolls up his sleeves above the hype
to pull out more of his rocket tricks,
he surely knows there’s more to life
than craven caves and dropping bricks.
© said sadain, jr. 2018
In a parallel universe, I would have been a prolific writer, churning out, day and night, streams of prose and poetry, and kilometric reams of novels and essays, you would wonder if I ever stop for anything, if I ever sleep a blink (assuming you would also be in that parallel universe). But no, I am in this universe, where I stop for red lights and sleep like a log, and blog in a most laconic way. And you, probably amused by now about what, if ever, may have happened to that book project I wrote about here a few times last year.
It looms on the horizon riding the back of waves
raising sails in ashen canvas that can only burst
to spread fury and fire rains and dancing dervishes.
It draws in breath to still the air
so that palm fronds will cock their ears
and sand crabs will freeze their eyes
while rocks and roots will beat like bulls
a rhythm for an ancient ritual dance.
- when the lustered sea embraces the sand, is it to claim or cede its flotsam? when my mind sails with the rolling wind, is it to cast or catch a sparkle?
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