The door cracked open
of a high house,
scattered cries of,
“Help, help, help!
Save, save, save!”
But no one came,
for these cries were
from a high house.
She was stripped
garment by garment,
her last drape snatched,
debased.
She was helpless
craven and lifeless.
Her youthfulness
was dead,
merely a pile of soot.
This was the honor of
a poor man’s daughter.
She was dead,
merely a pile of soot,
no longer able to raise a voice.
This was the honor, the chastity,
of a poor man’s daughter.
The high flames
of her pyre
became a vampire
to **** the blood
of her looters.

The fresh puff of fragrance
of my flowers,
as carried away
by the eastern winds,
unnoticed,
silently, in an instance.
Impulsively, I tried a chance,
with my sublime mind,
to scatter heavenly essence.

I left this world behind
running faster and faster
in a hope to explore
with those wheels of sophistication.

I connected with nature
flying above the clouds
to the place unknown
with those wings of my imagination.

I glanced at the flowers
dancing in glory there
and the birds singing,
with those words of my admiration.

Oh, my peace of mind,
gone away as you are, flown too far,
with wings of progress,
you are gone forever.

My feelings are unspoken
without any noise,
yet the noise is there
down in the street,
of a daughter
when a rascal snatches
her last garment
shamelessly
a noise of hatred,
of venomously gnawing,
when foes of humanity
pull swords at each other,
streaming a gory river,
and of
the cries of innocent faces
hidden in shaggy hair,
sprouting from sunken bellies,
when they long for their lost parents
from whom
they would have
enjoyed lullabies.

But there is no noise
of singing of birds
chirping of swallows
whistling of leaves
cawing of crows
or cooing of doves
or song of a nightingale
as this planet is now,
deserted and morose
my feelings are unspoken
without my voice.