Friday 29 May 2015

Pretending to go to War

I set up the bivouacs
And decided that I was busy,
My hourglasses set besides camp-fires,
Overlooking oiled armour and picket-lines,
My footsteps parked by every totem,
My labour bunched in muscles
Awaiting hot water baths.
Did I look away
when I found your fingers
Kindling pits that threatened
To froth with ash?
I do not remember your gaunt memories
Tempering the steel of my weapons
Stealing the sin they earned,
Making of them gentle playthings,
I should have heard your whispers
Woven into sentry reports
Painting my horizons with dull colours,
My scouts found farmsteads
stocked with grain to ground empires
But I saw mundane trophies
That I couldn't bother to prise
From hands filled with life
Distinctly more musical than mine.
Was your name always on these fetishes?
I spend my whole day in bathtubs.

Image Source: Corneliu Baba

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