The enemy within rises
To soaring heights
Through nose, eyes, ears,
Scull, belly, penis…
Through the pores of my skin
Amounting to thousand sculls...
My enemy within – but he is mine –
Whom I embrace for lifetime
To rid of my enemy within
Only once perhaps
When I enter death
Death an unknown region
Beyond living consciousness
Is the only hope led by the fire –
The path of struggle – destruction
To open the gates of Death.
* * *
17-10-1969
Baroda (Vadodara)
Baroda (Vadodara)
~~~~~~
© Remigius de Souza, all rights reserved.
A poignant poem, Remi. I'm glad I came here. Thanks for inviting.
ReplyDeleteThanks! Being a farmer at my core, I observed silence for many years... when poetry comes as a safety valve.
DeleteProfound... Aligns with my inner being.. I just stumbled upon your blog..
ReplyDeleteThanks! In the World-Wide-Wilderness of Internet we somehow stumble upon in this way! I saw the blogs you follow... I appreciate your choice... my interests too.
Deleteworldwiderwilderness, the www better expressed... :) I enjoy your writings and paintings although I don't understand much of modern art.. Thank you for sharing..
DeleteThis is non-art, not modern art really. It happened at the spur of the moment after long reflections... Perhaps it might have had happened because of a photograph of Italian sculpture: A column covered with human figures trying to reach heaved, some were being pushed to hell.
DeleteMy miniature painting --- Tentacles -- at side column is a presentation damage to Environment.