The Eyes


The Eyes

The insight of darkness is deep
When the soul is hampered ,
By the locked door of passage .

The griot woman gazed fixedly
At the dull cristal waiting for,
Familiar glitter at the centre
Of the old oak tree ; the fingers
Twitching furiously by the haggard edge .

The fireflies danced around the barren path,
Predatory porcupine just at the corner
Of the starved stream; unaware of hunter's aim
And the unbiblical cord yet unburied ?

No one knows what the moonlight
Tale would bring at the wake of dawn,
Young rooster dashing for the early
Dunghills contest before the East
Rises - soldiers ants dilemma is pitiful ,
Helpless and the sting useless

So what do you do when you
Have eyes yet you are blinder,
Than the black bat at the noon.

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