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At Crossroads
Meet me at the center of my dream, at the juxtaposition of time and moment, at the confluence point of my endeavours.
I met a chuckling stranger once, a score ago, by the entrance of the streets at the rustling of childhood fantasies. "What way are you headed my child" ? I sneered at his decision to stay blind to the apparentness of my direction. Still, reluctantly I pointed at a path, I saw him smile as he shook his head and I was irritated by the abrupt end of his expressions.
Stranger from my past, O snickering stranger from childhood! You did not foretell the mirage of this boulevard I walk. You did not tell till I became the lone wanderer haunted by uncertainties, knawed by a fated knowledge.
There are no surveyed roads to the distant horizons. Every man has in hand, a machete to clear his paths in the forests of obstacles. Sharpen mine Lord that I may prevail over sharp stumps of the mocking earth.
Comments
IRiz
Tue, 2018-09-04 10:34
"sharp stumps of the mocking
"sharp stumps of the mocking earth" I love these words
i would take out distant horizons
it is a great poem, i love it
i have a question about this line " the abrupt end of his expressions"
i am not sure what you mean there
IRiz
Eumolpus
Fri, 2018-09-07 00:55
a much more focused work
some of the images are stunning, some of the language a bit stilted. As people often rewrite others' poem on this site with their take, allow me to give it a try. This is only made for the suggestion, and I find when others do it for me is very interesting and helps me see it a new way.
Meet me at the center of my dream, at the juxtaposition of a time and moment.
I met a stranger once, a long time ago, by the entrance of the streets with the rustling of childhood fantasies. "What way are you heading my child?" Reluctantly I pointed at a path, I saw him laugh as he shook his head. I sneered and went my way, irritated by his abruptness.
Stranger from my past, O snickering stranger from childhood! You did not foretell the mirage of this boulevard I walk. You did not tell until I became a lone wanderer haunted by uncertainties, knawed by a fated knowledge:
There are no roads to the distant horizons. Every man has in hand, a machete to clear his paths in the forests of obstacles. Meet me at the center of my dream, that I may prevail over sharp stumps of the mocking earth.
I tried to put a poetic logic or narrative into the text, not a story that goes A to B but something more A to B to A. You open the idea..."Meet me at the..." so you are inviting the reader in. Then you tell a story, then revelations from the story, then end with what this story taught you. (bringing in the Lord has no real place here.) I tried to give the poem shape.
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My take
...
Eumolpus
I'd rather learn from one bird how to sing
than teach ten thousand stars how not to dance
ee cummings
Holmes
Sun, 2018-09-09 18:09
I appreciate this, your
I appreciate this, your editing made me see it from another point