liturgy....
black coffee,
old hands opening boxes.
sweeping the floor
of the soul.
words shaped like photographs
made of wind and tears.
simple things...
simple doings!
the same shovel
digs the grave,
digs in the garden.
barefoot,
and half naked,
no need for words,
no fears to console.
live without regrets,
leave it all on the table.
do the work, and move on.
dont be the hollow religious image,
a body that has no love,
a love that has no body.
dont be so quick to wash your hands,
the dirt neath your nails
is your heritage!
liturgy...
black coffee,
and touching,
the shovel, and the axe!
Somehow you escape the mundane and cut right to the chase, with the simplest choice of words- simply amazing.
A great poem, some people tend to forget their heritage as time moves on. A great write.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Wow! ! ..Caught in your poems! !