From The Torn Pages of The Errant Knight

You showed me this land of prison
And to you I idolised many humans
Amidst the burning horizon I camp in that wild town
They gave me papers to which songs sang
This land has produced many storms and you
Shared your charming mad laughs and
Forever have drawn people beheading gods with
Swords and spears – yet you have lived in stillness

When I was approached by the delicate wind on
Top of hills swaying the desert trees melodiously free
I saw the happiness in me on you
And the still to come grasslands beyond scorpions
But only then will you have shown me the intricate song
Of elders shining relics on top of dunes so clear
That if taken inside – doomed to take within
If not for the sands in my mouth

There is a path which riddle your mind
To speak of the past forever
But then the idols silence its followers
And in that desert drown and misshape to become
A season though the wind comes again
Singing to me the words of a beautiful lady
Where windmills were sent into dusts and now I step
Into the wildest dreams of man

You have foretold a space in time
Pillaging crowns and thrones in caves of bears
And beauty has only shown the sun how to touch the moon
When night was surrounded by clouds
You moved into the prison to show
Us of the past and of the camels on sand travel
Even if I have known when to leave
Left in hurry to return

What of citadel was it made? A person to be executed
Or of me what to become? And where to escape?
But of those destroyed gods men resurrected
To demoralise and delude the demented
If yet – there is – in me – the land – surrendered
The desert’s glorious historical wars
Noted in torn pages or even burnt
To never mention our wound?

As if I have become a statue
Thrown in ancient tombs to never be heard
To never be seen with a staff and a crown
But shaped into caverns separated into darkness
Love from me to this land, what mad pursuit?
Not the eyes see but if not just to see
And not the ears hear but if not just to hear
Lovers imprisoned in our land

Faerie tales and floral essences and no rhymes
Will it ever show us the shapes of mortals?
What has become of them and of the forlorn lands?
How my hard-rock mindless shape haunts the
Temples of Palenque or the mounts of Ulug Depe,
Or the valleys of Arcady or the dunes of Barsha?
The pious have written
And I was given tablets and papyrus

The desert blossoms a tree of infinite grace and unity
Whilst yearning a day to pass without storms
Locks unlock silencing the overpowered
Forest to overgrow branches suffocating the infamous
Sacrificing the heads of tribes and meadows to water
Harvesting for next week and today be a spirit
Rising ocean storms and thunder this desert
To once more beget a man with a soul

Monday, 18th of March 2013