Intoxicated Singing

Intoxicated with the spirit of poetry
I sang in the dialects of hamlets,
Pasted with cow dung
And decorated with straw
A ruffian among the crowd
Often speaking things unheard
To laymen and folks
I sang in the dialects of hamlets
I was singing things not known to me
Sacrifice, struggles, and martyrdom
I wanted to demolish the church
To make a new one, and
I would make it from the ruins of the old one
But I would run my sermons in the old one
I would cut the plantain trunk
And plant the leafy part
And I would sing about my leaves
Flying in breeze
MY spouse is away
In her comely attire
Of love and affection
In the paradise of life
I wish to sit singing
Lonely in the valley
With a reverberating note
To please her round the clock
But my singing always betrays me
It sings of lives gone
Into the fathoms
Where martyrs live
And paradise
Where songs are made
Trees without leaves
Embrace me in harmonious horror
Into their bony branches
Screeching in silent tones
Rains fail mankind
Into an infernal battle of life
And bleed the emotions
Into fluid maggots
Merci… merci… plead the buns
We can’t enter the juicy dirt
Of human mouths in the battle field
Merci… merci…
And I am intoxicated with the spirit of poetry!