OUR WATERFAL

Waters of  seven springs
Flowed for  so many  years,
And never came to a halt,
They rushed  marvelously, churning,
  Against the rocks and roots ,
Running anxiously  to our water fall
Sweet , turbulent;
 Brighter than  ghostly beetles.
Crushing  into the purest  foams  ,
To mirror,  for a moment,
 The cold rays  of  Motherland,
Splashing, then, down the tower ,
  Over the old  Sage’s bower ,
Who was practicing the reality  of non-being, ,
Under  the ripe -heavenly pomegranates
Around the  bluest billabong …where
 We swam for a   hundred years ,
With the bones of our  ancestors ,
 Until  someday  a sphinx ,
 Showed us how fragile,
  Our so called  Fathers were ,
Even ,the sage  disappeared,
Squeaking. , after it was too late,
‘Darling ,  run," screamed he..
"OH,  holy father ,  we have  already  gone."

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SONG OF ILIUM

Kay Hassan

Pray  in me,  dear goddess,
Don’t   break  me down  into  dusts
I am  a  mortal who for thy joy
Had hit his way  to the shores of  Troy,
Leave me  not in the middle of the oceans, .
 I am nothing,without thy lust;  dear goddess,

Even with all those  holy  shields
Never had  readied  to burn Troy,
It is  you who  had breached the  law,
To make in me a  war-libertine's claw ,

Live   in me and  rhyme  your  song,
I am dearer  than  thy  pilgrims,
To seek  remedy in  your   temples,
Kiss thy  Black-est Stones*
Or taste the Eucharist* - bread

Play  not with my few years
They are dusts of  your sins.;
Will be then
dwindling on a thousand  altars,
Even if I grow the wings of Pegasus ,
Or was honored by the  company of Odysseus;

Tho' 'm  not in step with thy peers
Listen  to my  diamond tears,
They are echoes of  Troy's years  ..
...........................

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THE LAST PHILOSOPHER

Kay Hassan
 When,  a  philosopher ran out of all  motives,
Lonely,  wandered off to  the city  ,
And  wept  for the death of his  day,
Spewing out  streams of  holy-gibberish,
 And kept  roaming down towns and  streets,
Until awkwardly stole a glimpse of   his  glorious wife ;
Fluently, selling all kinds of  precious stones .
Quite in accord with  Harvard Business Review ,
He, the poor Philosopher  screamed:
‘Woe  is   me,   Aristotle!    (‘For Aristotle‘s dental logic.)
We are impractical phoenixes,’ said he,
And ran to the river’s estuary,
Ardent to fetch  the finest  river -stone.
Where  he was  shredded, over  a thousand  of them,
 until screamed in the light of his moon
‘Here are my  mentors' stone . ’
And took a hold of the  most unkind  one ,
To set it, in the morning,   on the  class'  display - board
Where he looked   taller against his disciples' word
Until a  sharp  growl escaped his mouth- trumpet:
‘See how  this magical alchemy ,
 liberate  the Cosmos from the Existence atrophy.'
And  bashfully,  the dodger left  the scene .
And farewell-ed his disciples and   triviality.

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Language Dies in Hospital

Kay Hassan 

A language Died in Hospital
Without  plans  for   Pow wow
When Hazel Sampson,
 Of  Olympic Peninsula
The  descendant of Lord James Bach,
And  a grandmother
  Of four generations
Lay  in hospital  without clan’s  bows
By her language  like a queen  with  her crown
Klallam, Klallam, Klallam

Hazel neither  was  a cloud thunder,
Nor the  water of  Death Valley , or,
Apaches  of  the southwest terrain   ,
 Or had Cherokees’  Olive  skin
She was Hazel whose body was
shrouded with silk tram
And had  just lullabied
the last sweet  tongue  of Klallam;
Who  hunted, mated and  fought ,
for a thousand years , OR MORE,
And made the  lexicon for all deeds
But are now dying in  hospital ,
With her tongue and  her  language grammar.
But everything froze in one word.
 Klallam, Klallam, Klallam.

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RIDDLE OF MY CITY

Kay Hassan

The Riddle Says::

On the gray stones of the old  bridge,
In   the city of  summer and  fire,
 A blind beggar endures;
The rays of  the cruelest sun,
And the harshest daggers of tongue.
Where  steadily stretches  his  hand
From the  twilight  dim  ,
To the close of the day
Cries unto  passers -by
For God’s sake:  Hit me forty  lashes,
And take this handful of gold;
It is the dearest  dust of  my city,
And  is all what  I posses though,
Take it and pass - me- through
If  are not satisfied thy,
Get in with mine- delightful  wife - three,
And take the Solomon's treasure- key.
                     ***

. .

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