In Time


The moment I was clothed in sheep-wool

And put out to bah with crowded language,

I strayed, I strayed

I dug the graves the vultures had ploughed

And made a song to amuse

The charade called joker-faced destiny

 

Marx said you are too good

In markets to run, all the stable boy parades

We ran, we ran

Inspecting the pulps found in the tomato cans

So exotic and bloody, if that be true

We thought we had seen the very last of you.

 

It is a love letter to a reluctant lover

I pray, I pray

Listening through the metallic walls

Into absence

Of history, time and space.

The mangrove older and taller than us all, 

Has never and will never say.

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