Kites
The distraught weather passed
above the ponderous hands
of icicles and charcoals
and amongst these phantasms
I watched a phalanx of
unfettered kites adrift
the lackadaisical paunch clouds
and the willowing of their
cavernous vaults
The diamond shadows -
perfectly symmetrical
and atrociously sharp -
casted ominous patterns
on my lifeless body
staring at their distant flight
and writhing amongst
the felled autumn leaves
Dry as an unaddressed telegram,
I linger here futilely until
every words etched on the
ornate hollowness of my tableau
would just be meaningless words
and eloquent alphabets
cursively stroked without
empathy and desire
This is my stalemate fate:
watching the weather take
pivots and forever molt,
and I implore for nothing more
but more of your generous pain
until I drown and learn
to breath underwater -
until I can be like dead soldiers
marching across the wrathful fusillade:
apathy is an armada and
amnesia is a vanguard
But the kites grew faces
and dancing lips and
I have become the gnarled loops
on the flat lines of their strings.
poem by Norman Santos
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