The words are clear, o so clear!
Patriotism blaring from a bullhorn,
Justice promised in steel blindly shaped.
“The threat, the response,
The rule of law…” the President drones,
And the people listen, how they listen!
To his faultless monotone.
About a month ago three Taliban hit men shot 15-year-old Pakistani activist Malala Yousafzai in the head on her way to school. Not only did she survive, but she is expected to fully recover and has already asked for her schoolbooks so that she can continue her studies.
Mystery eludes the firmament;
The unbeliever rejoices, yet certitude
Is but a pause, the prelude
To an inexplicable and joyous lament.
The sheets do not talk. The warm breeze
does not know that autumn is near;
The language of premonition
Is burrowed like a fossil in my pillow.
While seated in meditation
You walked past my shut eyes,
My face in peaceful repose,
My still body, more still than a garden.
As the first light stirs
Not a single word is spoken:
Your arms seek me beneath the covers.
My soul finds you beyond the clouds.
I love you, though it pains,
And the pain to me shows
Exalted mountains, expansive plains
Where once I chose
To lie, somnambular and closed.
The wind sweeps like a broom
Through my lungs,
Like a meek old lady, in a half-lit store, closing shop.
It is overcast today. I feel a calm
That makes me tremble with life.
Enjoy the sky, but know that
The heart is a molecule of water.