Thursday, 22 September 2016


Pomegranate, Red, Fruit, Juicy, Italy

With her golden hair, rippling curls, chariot of winged dragons
Beauty and blessings then hopes and happiness she ought to bring
But the blesser’s bereaved of an only beloved
Let her know of Husband’s betrayal
Let her know of father’s betrayal
Leading innocence into abysm of chthonic royal
Leading her to flee the heavens
Life will lose the bliss
Light will waste his heat
Loam will lose her honour
That’s life to many
But some still hope
That peace and joy of mother earth will return from underworld
How, when joy has consumed the pomegranate of the deceiver?
And the gods won’t thirst
And no goddess will hunger
And there’s nothing to make the mortals merry
And gods act to appease the bereaved
But our gods don’t know that language
And so, we hope Hope will have mercy
                                                                        At Home,

When the soul wanders on fantasy
It’s a substitute for ecstasy.
You think husband betrays wife
Or fathers their daughters?
Has she married who she loves?
Has he loved her or has she made him fallen
Before the making of the vow?
If no, then he’s no husband
For there’s none worthy of that name without love
And none selfish and unloving deserves the vow;
If yes, then it’s a side of times.
Remember the early sun
And the time when it’s hotter
And the dust when it’s cool and beautiful?
Times! So, may be patience will do.
Is that not what your homelove is about?
But that some gods are inert, I fear.

            Thoughful, as well.
Pomegranate, Red, Fruit, Juicy, Italy

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