Ode To Fame


One day, you will be old
And as wounded
As putrefied fruit
On life’s dining table.
Memories of your folds
And your unmet fears
All but faded,
They melted away like ghosts
On the road to
Your home in
Villanueva del Rosario

So you flew far and wide,
And you documented all
As the infernal place cemented;
People love colours
If purposes suit,
Lovers of movement
With a kit and a boot,
But all movements made
Give illusions their root.

You owned the diurnal,
You owned a dispersal;
They made arrests
On Grecian beaches
Yesterday, refugees
On deflating, sinking dinghies
Paid the price of your coat,
And you traded it all
For a soft drink and hope.

Trappings

Essence of survival’s seed
Is only ever as vital to me
As happiness aligned between
The nature and the need.

Wealthy neighbours trappings
My role could never afford,
Grow your golden shiny wrappings,
I’m happier being poor.

There’s nothing fine to me in fame,
All people I’ll not meet;
Filling thoughts, a foreign name,
For rhymes which float and fleet.

I turned my ego inside out,
Ego flogged my soul impure;
It thrashed in nets, and lunged about,
May meditation some day cure.