R. K

Delightful view; when did this garden turn into a ditch?
These trees – to grove, this lane – to non-existent,
Jasmines or ashes – which is which?
Seems I’ve kept captive way too long
My rigid self, away from cram, yet far from being decent
I am long gone.

It’s stupid not to sing in silence
When - all of it – rustles along,
No crowd, no familiar faces; once loud, now still
Once saying you should run like mad, now – stay where you belong,
Enchain yourself with destiny or flee.
What if I did, the second one? Oh, free will
I wonder, will they look for me.

What happens when you pull yourself forward enough to be called Majesty?
New trinkets? Just to seem fairly unequal
Marriage? But my heart knows no queen
No man shall ever breathe at ease under this gravity
No man must ever bend themselves before this ermine gown
The funniest thing is always left unseen –
Kings never bow just not to drop the crown.

A ditch indeed this garden has become, but no complaints
It suits me just alright and glad I am to witness its raw grants
This place – so pure, as overseen by saints…
Now I will lay myself upon the soil
This bed of flowers be my bed, a green crate carried by foursome
May I then hear angels’ chants
As roses turn heads up to blossom.