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Strangers

I am imprisoned.
As you are.
Neither one of us can help it,
destined to be.
I'll try not to forget this unfathomed impossibility.
Still, the scent of white oleander falls not far
from a warm summer's breeze.

And if I see you atop the African elephant
with shotgun in hand, your home full of
trophies, I'll not understand, bwana, the killing
instinct of the hunt is lost on my sex, gathering
is more my inclination, and my hands full of snowflakes
will melt sooner rather than later.

And if I were a boat sailing to Gaza to challenge
the blockade, I'll not forget the powers that be,
I'll not forget the children that suffer
for want of hunger and a roof, an arm or a leg,

There is a field of wild roses and a tormented river we all must cross.
Teach me how to love you,
help me understand who is unworthy and who must beg.

If there is a God, is he somehow lost in his creation, imprisoned
in the human heart?
Is she like a dove, struggling to escape her cage with an evergreen sprig of home?

Silently drawn to each other like you and I. exotic fractals in a strange land in
a strange potter's hand.

Last few words: 
http://www.alternet.org/story/152966/jailed_for_sailing_to_gaza%2C_challenging_the_blockade?akid=7817.320167.zwMsya&rd=1&t=24 http://www.thesun.co.uk/sol/homepage/news/3915951/Barbaric.html
Editing stage: 

Comments

Let us adore each other 11/4/11

My window is a portal to the other world,
see, I've been watching leaves turn gold against a slumbering sky,
reminisce an ancient undoing, not yet unfolding
we are not strangers here, though life is strange
and people stranger still:
always at a standstill
like piñatas in papier-mâché hearts,

ambivalence joins us sometimes, as if we had
places to go and we were not there once before,
you on this side of the wayward breeze, me on the other,
revolutionaries or revelations,
I still don't know which one is more the appropriate
when the earth amidst her splendors subsumes old ghosts
and I see your face smiling in the mirror of my reflection.

Come with me then, but let not our swan wings fly too close to the sun.
lest our serpent tongues betray us with a kiss and we forget why.

author comment

throughly enjoy your metaphors, and did so this time too. However, I would leave off the lines about the oleander. While a pleasant smell, it does nothing for the poem, unless it is referenced in a different way. I think that maybe you might end the line about not understanding hunting and trophies, with a period after Bwana. [Starting a new one at The killing]. This has plenty of potential, and I would love to see it worked out. ~ Gee

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Hi Sir Gee, The oleander references a warm summer breeze, or the reality of the sense of life in a scent... which leads us to Africa....the scent of a hunt.

Anyhow, this is how *my* mind works, and though it doesn't made sense to others, it does to me.
Thank you for reading and your comment my dear....now get out of my headlights. ;-)

hugs,
~

author comment
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