Insufficiency of Maps
Fifty million days of yalda
Thirty thousand strides to surmount
Two lost footsteps
An obfuscated horizon
And a vulpine mirage veiling
The photographs that never lied
I wallowed in the traceless sand
Of this oceanic wasteland
Six feet above an abysmal trench
Where all your promises sank
The air is putrid with the stench
Of macabre gushing from your mouth
The emaciated clouds plastered
The evening stars and their directions
Whilst the spigot of life poured
Draining what's left to drought
And these veins closed like breaths
Heaved for a final stride
I searched for smiles
Like messages in the sand
Like croons carried by the Levanter
Sifting and drifting with consciousness
Like ornate dreams too banal
In the verisimilitude of reality
Yet too good a taste
To remain the same
The insufficiency of maps you've left
Riveted me under the scorches
Of the sun's arrogant maw
And I will wait her futilely
To be found once more
As the time passes by in truancy.
poem by Norman Santos
Added by Poetry Lover
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