What Owns A Poet? Poem by WKE Kamel

Forgive asked the wave
Deny did the child
Just kept playing on the sand
Drops of salty water tickling his tiny feet
Among its white atoms
Rage began to rise
Chilling breeze
Toying with his hair
Combing it in waves

A paper and a pen
That’s all I need to change the world
He believed once

A prophet has a god behind him
But what owns a poet?
The beauty of verse
Nothing more
But much less
In a mud of blood
Under rain of tears
Is it useful? The beauty of verse?
No

Seven different ways
Into different seven days
And none even approaches
The injury of the beast
Did you see my friend?
What difference does the death of a poet make?
None
Simply… none

How ugly, is the face of earth
He holds his brush
Trying to draw a touch
Of brightness, of colour
With a transparent brush
He still tries

Into one hundred years of solitude*
A poet sinks
Searching for a stone
To throw at the ugly monster inside
Seven ways into seven days
Seven odes into seven earths
But still
No cut into the monsters face

With water of gold under diamond stars
He washes his sacred hands
Holds his rusty feather
And writes with silver
Thousands and thousands of words
To be eaten by fish
And swallowed by larger ones
And not to cause
A cut
Into the monsters face

*Dedicated to G.G Marquez