When Moths Visit
The moths and bees know the history
of the planets and high pitched voices
carry the most ancient stories
in subtle sounds of mating and destructions.
They understand violence and capture
as well as they've taught the secrets
of Solomon, his staff and the termites
who gnawed at the fictions.
The bugs scurry away to their tunnels
secreting the taste of what rots
with the odor and maps of footprints
of those who left the bodies to waste.
Ground waters carry the dead scents
into the cavernous aqueducts or toward
the sky to be carried along with the seeds
of all blessings and injustice.
Poetry is easy if you know the languages.
1 comment:
Here is the sign of the poet that is Lilac. The poetry, I dare say, is much more accessible, when you are dwelling in the realm of the particulars. Lebanon gets its moments to breath while Israel "calls off the bombing." I hope for your sake that it is prolonged. You have been reminding me of a voice howling in the desert, sometimes hard to track. It seems like you are two people in there, Lilac, one who is fuming and raging, but soft calm music at the center. Is that where the poetry lies, or is it all wrong? I am humbled when I see how you usually have a poem for us everyday. I do have a few more blogs that I read, but it's easier to track just a few so you don't get confused.
"We Saw the World, Stayed in the best Hotels" was that yours? I believe I read it but can't remember when...only that I was envious of the title. I love titles, in fact, that's how I would begin a poem, thinking of a killer title and then building the verse around the mood that the title had evoked. Fair well, Sa'laam a'alay'kum, is it? (again I am sorry my Arabic is rusty.
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