Friday, 26 July 2013

poetic fragments op. 39

Counting blue cars

“A Christ driving a blue car,”
My friend says.
Insane as he is, he can count.
He has been counting blue cars
On a crossover bridge
Before a Lion’s apartment building
For quite a while.

Why blue?
Why cars?
Those are mysterious.
Yet blue cars are certainly running
On Route 6
And he’s insane…

I’m a Christ.
I went insane, resigned,
And my family broke up.
I have such genes like these.
Genes are the cross.

The cross is the cross
Only while human beings exist.
We make them the cross.

So many Christs today:

Counting blue cars.

poetic fragments op. 38

A road, not me

Robert Frost sang with a sigh,
“Two roads diverged in a wood, and I -
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.”

I’ve never been willing to
Take a road unlike him.
I’ve been always taken by a road
Which was not radiant in the least
But was under a bright evil star.
I have no regret paradoxically.

Taking or not taking a road
never has made me what I am.
From beginning to end,
There was not “me” but “a road.”

The road was
Grassy and in leaves.
It was both summer and winter.

Two roads diverged in a wood.