George Bab.saay Jr.
Walk straight, limp heart and heavy head
En route to ridicule road,
Quiet shrieks surround the bend.
Faces scarred, blaze miles ahead
as do red ears redder than red.
Play dead on grass,
On stone, on asphalt wrecked;
Or bake the grass; and stare at stones instead.
Within that stretch,
while others bleed
and sell their seed
somewhere (who knows?) .
Still, the weeds spread silent, mindless
under hundred heavy feet.
One way, the other, or;
we all die, and will,
and walk and laugh and weep
and play dead no more.
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Poet's Notes about The Poem
Comments about this poem (Monday by George Bab.saay Jr. )
Poem of the Day
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(13 September 1916 – 23 November 1990)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
- Heather Burns
(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827)
(22 March 1941 -)