poetry

It will pass!

Under the sordid sun we sat,
repugnant rays bathed our skins.
Black clouds in the distant sky,
overlooking a canopy of redwoods;
omen of what is to come.

‘Don’t speak, its prohibited,’
she muffled in my ears,
‘confine your words dear,
for, to speak is to boor’.
Hold! It may pass as well!

The wings of wax had melt,
and then Icarus rose no more.
And Phaethon fell to earth,
burning all it had, but then
it passed, as all things do.

For ashes of the martyrs
give birth to martyrs again.
And from tyranny arises-
tongues and arms and shoulders-
which turn the sun immaculate.

Painting_ Jacob Peter Gowy’s The Flight of Icarus

First published in Asian Speaks.

It may pass as well

i need suggestions.

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