Thursday, July 20, 2017

I eat dry bread...

I eat dry bread…

I eat dry bread in the desert:
It tastes like a cake of dust.
I breathe in and out powdery clouds:
Nostrils singe, snorting fire.
I swallow my own saliva:
Thick paste coats my inside throat.
How will I sustain my journey in this land
When my mouth is filled with sand?

I falter inside a steel kettle, sparks popping about.
Black footprints flame at the edges.
I am dried up, a gourd rattling seeds.
Heat waves deceive like the devil.
Thirsty, I lick at a mirage with my eyes.
Twisting, I glimpse the taskmaster sun.
Hands astride hips, he glares mercilessly,
Glowering white noon death rays.

The sky is livid, a clown murderer, crimson lips, grinning.
He spills sacksful of hot ash from above.
Multitudes, buried alive, scratch at the insides of a wooden coffin.
Spiritless as the burning air gone lifeless,
I am dark as a moonless, starless sky,
Staggering in an expanse unbounded beyond extreme sight,
Devoid of any atom of hope,
Despair, a universe expanding endlessly.

Elijah under a broom tree


  1. In this version of the poem, “multitudes” is substituted for “hordes.”

    “As nouns the difference between multitude and horde is that multitude is a great amount or number, often of people, while horde is a wandering troop or gang, especially, a clan or tribe of a nomadic people (originally Tatars) migrating from place to place for the sake of pasturage, plunder, etc., a predatory multitude.”



  2. Image courtesy of Free Bible images

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