3 posts
  • rishabhpal22 28w

    The Fifty-Fifth Tongue

    Release me, release me
    There's a poem tapped in morse
    Where a cowardly death-rattle
    Sits waiting by its horse
    It speaks of your Voyage
    It stands upon your eyes
    To be told to a people
    When the last of us dies

    In the redness of the distant
    In the coldness, in the dark
    Skulls of your shamans
    Are building us an ark

    There's an altar for my mother,
    And a window with old blinds
    To protect me from sorrow,
    In a billion years and minds

    My King has called me, the fifty-fifth tongue
    Awaits to be written, etched, and strung
    To be told to a people
    When the last of us has died
    In places where God sleeps
    Unchained, untied

    I shall walk again past these tears again
    Where death is thinly drawn
    The sands of the Nazca
    Shall stir the broken pawn
    My ancestors lie there
    In defiance of Rot
    To send my saddled horse to you
    With its Pale Blue Dot

    I must go where they are waiting,
    I must travel to that ark
    Where a thousand mothers call my name
    From a thousand graves unmarked

    I must go where they await me
    'Neath a crystal obelisk
    Where a million souls call my name
    Upon that Golden Disk


  • normancrane 90w

    Machu Picchu

    A spiralling ascent
    Along the world's edge
    Sweatdrops fall
    To a below without sunlight
    Boot dust
    Llamas labour under supply packs
    Hoof beat lantern dance
    Shadows cast on the cliff face
    Distorted we loom
    Above the mute fog of humanity
    Awash in the final dawn
    The old Inca smiling sprouts his knife
    Ancient tapestral landscape
    Exhales into us
    Curvously infolding
    The old Inca holds out his hands
    The knife cuts horizontally
    Reality opens like a book upon a tabletop
    There, he says,
    Pointing to the infinite space between where the sky in the past met the land
    Timespace lies like a discarded washcloth
    And we see dimly through the mists—
    There, he says,
    Pizarro could not follow us,
    And we see dimly through the mists—
    The neon lights of

  • llewravenpoetry 216w

    An ode to my favourite flower �� Lily of the Incas ❤

    I nurture until you wake
    Dreaming of Peru

    #Alstroemeria #flowers #inca #peru #mirakee #mirakeecommunity #readwriteunite #writersnetwork #haiku #wordsmith #bipolar #depression

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    Haiku 455

    I nurture until you wake
    Dreaming of Peru