Meditating with Davie
yet convulsed by the age
in the not so gentle
English academic halls
we turn over a page,
Burning with your Muse
to inflame words on fire
unraveling language
as a lily flower,
as a lily flower,
your glance rises
with a gentle desire
with a gentle desire
for a dance of the hour,
With proverbs
mounting over
each creation's stage
each creation's stage
(in experimental
fragmentation)
fragmentation)
with a traveler's wish
not to age,
not to age,
Yet to be cast
from small iconic fragility
from small iconic fragility
and last beyond
your stations,
your stations,
now you too are translated
beyond all used bookstalls
in hundreds of nations.
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