Ocean’s Hunger

Ocean’s arms will not recede

until the reverine

frame

is broken
into smithereens
in its mighty fold
and dissolved
in its green ego.

There, in a Corner
sat her gods
wearing tragedy’s face.
Their vacant looks
neither warm nor cold.
They know not
what is love
or hatred,
for they are not of human flesh.
They only trod
the destiny’s frozen path
which is neither new nor old,
and surely smaller
than man’s dimensions.

Together we can build a world
of empyrean songs,
of colour, odour and feel,
which no god can ever aspire,
for
they are not made of
bone and flesh,
they are just what we think they are,
born of our ephemeral desires
or of the collective will,
in the drop of eternity
that knows no change.

They move and act
with a permissive smile.
They are the sad profile
of our dreams
classified,
in a sick sick society.

Freedom is the essence
of our being,
the breath of our life
and our becoming.
I pine for her
every moment.
Only she can bring
Life’s fulfilment
in freedom’s ample measures,
for
she contains the quality
of love and its splendours
of head and heart.
She is that
heavenly bird the song of the wings
that is the ‘thing-in-itself’
and the ‘thing-to-be.’