Cielo
deep are the forests
and wide are the rivers
that meet you on the way to Cielo.
The city with misty eyes
houses with faces
houses with names
houses that talk
about things which are strange.
Where green waters flood the land
One-eyed fish swim on purple-blue sand.
Drink the clouds if you so please
think them first, and then eat.
Where food is thought
and flesh is not
all that necessary -
where you are your own fairy.
god.
mother.
And there is no other
different from You.
Such a place where nothing really moves
nothing needs to.
where no one pays
and nothing is due.
In Cielo
where feather-rocks
and hanging cliffs
float dead in peace.
Where the butts and If(s)
have willingly ceased.
You must step off
dive into the fire
must straight drop
through one into another sky
and keep going higher.
you cannot tire.
Deep are the forests
and wide the rivers
that meet you on the way to..
and wide are the rivers
that meet you on the way to Cielo.
The city with misty eyes
houses with faces
houses with names
houses that talk
about things which are strange.
Where green waters flood the land
One-eyed fish swim on purple-blue sand.
Drink the clouds if you so please
think them first, and then eat.
Where food is thought
and flesh is not
all that necessary -
where you are your own fairy.
god.
mother.
And there is no other
different from You.
Such a place where nothing really moves
nothing needs to.
where no one pays
and nothing is due.
In Cielo
where feather-rocks
and hanging cliffs
float dead in peace.
Where the butts and If(s)
have willingly ceased.
You must step off
dive into the fire
must straight drop
through one into another sky
and keep going higher.
you cannot tire.
Deep are the forests
and wide the rivers
that meet you on the way to..
posted by Priyanka Roy at Monday, August 01, 2011
6 Comments:
I wish you wrote more frequently.
:-) shall try. But i need to be patient. Things have to happen to get writing about them. I cant move beyond my time.
I agree. If it doesn't come out, you cant force it.
Not the narrative style, but something reminded me of Mocondo. And then there were traces of real life. Poetic painting of events and things ...sometimes utopian sometimes sarcastic( may be unintended)
Every line was a story.
..agreed sir, every line is a story.
lines make a big dot..and small dots make a line
me gusta mucho lo qe escribes!!!
me gusta lo qe escribes!!
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