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Monday, 2 January 2012

How birds should fly

If I ever, should I ever, in a storm drawn  
Find myself  at a cross road, rivers flow  
I see arrows pointed in branches broken as it's game over 

To be announced, towel thrown in, houses wrecked  
Pronounced dead, on circumstance, its shoreline 
Debris washed ashore, is it game over, again?

And after the storm calm, have a few good things
Said about me in last rite, he was a good man  
Nobody is allowed loud  to speak bad of me 

An earth place dug, this I can call my plot 
Truly my plot for eternity rest 
Sign posted with estate of similar 

But I ain't ready yet in obituary 
For my name to be pronounced with sorrow 
Not this day, I ain't ready yet, no

Not now yet, so pull your shot on front line  
Aim tight make sure it's bonseye 
Then watch matrix Neo, avoid Mr Anderson 

Slow motion sees arrows swing by  
And the phoenix would rise to show 
How birds should fly 


  1. I especially love your closing lines. A remarkable poem.


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