Whitehorse

A headful of future, lesser the happened,
Helpless and hapless, a past still unfathomed;
I assumed my own death, ineffably seamless –
Life passed me by, recurringly dreamless.

A handful of future, brighter the tearless,
Time observed Her curse in a helix;
Manoeuvres of Grace, abased are the fearless,
Measured in friendships, kinship and feelings.

Undo The Undone

To the workers ploughing out there,
To people in the chair,
To families burnt in enclave rings
Now living without prayers,

If I could lease my grieving lung
I’d undo despots draining done;
Absorb that cancerous, bloodied lot,
For fairness growing through the rot.

There’s no mausoleum or statue,
No temples in gold or bamboo
Which can’t be uprooted or toppled anew;
We’d be unstoppable, in a week or two.

I heard my soul cry from its cell,
A muffled sound, bottomless well,
Mishearing its touch as a distant bell,
I reached from my seat, and unseated fell.