On late the by-lanes one night,
unusual spot I green, a bottle
like any, but for words, may be,
on the label printed:
'Old wine. Hamlin. Best before: the future'
Scarred, the mouth, to fire
a rocket used, ringing in a day
when celebrating, a hero,
Goliaths thumped by a David new.
Hope, on the horizon, the word rising.
Threw it away, almost I, when
reversed comes, rolled up a parchment,
by ash burned, from the ******* a part:
a mix strange of clippings and retort.
Marked, astonished, the date, I: was it
from today, even of TV, a listings part;
'...mesmerized by the language of hope';
'Parks fill up as people gather to celebrate';
'Our democracy is alive and how'.
Of proportions messianic, news frothing
how new born, a leader is. Familiar all :
myself now, from one such, returning.
But curious, written, the words indeed:
*'Monuments wear and rivers thin,
as boatmen sing the evening song,
miracle-workers and peddlers of
honey and mead, pipers at the gates
of dawn, not men of mettle and deed'*
Of a piper, suddenly, as in a fantasy
a song, and heard I, helpless, wails
of mothers, a hundred .
Strained, to read, further my eye,
when tore up the piece;
Broke up green, a bottle on the street.
Dec 15, 2013
Dec 15, 2013 at 2:16 PM UTC
On late the by-lanes one night,
unusual spot I green, a bottle
like any, but for words, may be,
on the label printed:
'Old wine. Hamlin. Best before: the future'
Scarred, the mouth, to fire
a rocket used, ringing in a day
when celebrating, a hero,
Goliaths thumped by a David new.
Hope, on the horizon, the word rising.
Threw it away, almost I, when
reversed comes, rolled up a parchment,
by ash burned, from the ******* a part:
a mix strange of clippings and retort.
Marked, astonished, the date, I: was it
from today, even of TV, a listings part;
'...mesmerized by the language of hope';
'Parks fill up as people gather to celebrate';
'Our democracy is alive and how'.
Of proportions messianic, news frothing
how new born, a leader is. Familiar all :
myself now, from one such, returning.
But curious, written, the words indeed:
*'Monuments wear and rivers thin,
as boatmen sing the evening song,
miracle-workers and peddlers of
honey and mead, pipers at the gates
of dawn, not men of mettle and deed'*
Of a piper, suddenly, as in a fantasy
a song, and heard I, helpless, wails
of mothers, a hundred .
Strained, to read, further my eye,
when tore up the piece;
Broke up green, a bottle on the street.
I thought I was exploring surrealism: but this may actually be my very first work in the genre of 'magic realism'
'The Piper at the gates of dawn' was the title of the debut album by Pink Floyd, one of my favourite bands and in my opinion, the greatest! http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Piper_at_the_Gates_of_Dawn
Request permission to use this poem