Ode To My Lady Poem by pedro moshood

(Masculine mouth must drip like honeycomb
In the empty hollow of women's heart)


The turn of time, hope goes beyond expectation,
Observing the tubers running yellow tendrils-
Son of man, we are victim of time motion-
Drowned by our intellect in absolute extinct.
The immortal worms reaped the humble labor.
How vain we are lovers to waste our youth,
And sadly in old age think of bringing back
The glimmering days of youth before our doom,
Or dreaming of holding death at finger tip
But bearing the sad yoke to eternity?

The drought sun glows upon the rivulet.
The starved sun brings out bone in physique,
Lapping the stream dry, honeying the rivulet.
The college chair is like pulpit, while we the
Congregation of students sit on mat,
Like a flood of Jerusalem beggars,
Taking down the lecturers sermon.
But then the goddess eyes glance behind,
To keep my heartbeat to her devotion.
But why is the sun envying my delight?

Time candle though burns in lunar circuit,
Damning the ancient custom from rising.
The footprint of the worshipers is wiped off
From the footpath to the grove. The tuber of
Civilization is beneath the black earth,
Sprouting golding tendrils, giving fragrance,
Towering towards the sun, clouding the world.
Where are the gods? why are they pilgrimages?
Why is their breasts juice sour? Broken images!
My love, the gods are nature from instinct.

Hence, why should I sit beneath their feet,
When civilization gadflies sting
Them and cast their footprints to unknown realm?
During winter ailments, when my foot is
By the bank of styx, you coaled the hearth,
Brought me the herb of life in your coverlet.
Like a dream I float through your mountains and world,
Dumps in a garden to pollinate the stem.
Life motion rhymes with time but brings sour honey
When lovers are alone beneath the field.