BOULEVARDS OF BROKEN DREAMS

These misty covered mountains
Are now a home for me
These lonely shriveled curtains
Are now the shallow remains
Of my liege.

The dusts on the window pane
The trickling drops of water
From my patched roofs
Are the only soothing voices
That fill the hollow recess
     Of my animated mind.

I look out to the farmland
But no fertile eyes beckons for warmth
No big belly to show
under my gorgeously tattered garment
A Million heads tilted high.

Early in the morning
  as my bod awake.
No gold to show for age old works
No jewelries to adore my lover's neck
As I move about in this valley of tears
Where barren lands claim our poor flesh
Where pestilence strikes our innocent heirs
No jar of oil to anoint their heads
No bags of wheat to fill their flappy tummy
Just a handful hair of grain
To hold a life today
Till hunger strikes his deathblow
To quench the light
In their sunken eyes.

I see the farmers return
late in the light of the setting sun.
With empty baskets
slung on emaciated bones
The little boys
Hop round the rotten road
Bones barely covered with shriveled skin
Dice for pieces of silver
From the merchants
Who came into our town
When I could still count the lines on my palm
When this haggard framework
That now holds the chord
Of this perishing life...
Still stands aloof
Full of dreams
And wanton tales.

But right here I crouch
With nothing to call my own
Twenty liege of dream
Lies wasted in a stony sleep
The dogs pick out our babies bones
Those who die at birth
Not of want of live
Or strength to hold them still
But of the rottenness in this empty world
And the harsh terrain
  of this broken heartland.

Timon mortis conturbat me.