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No Respite

Sweet silence, you are being chased away
In increments our consciousnesses from
No room remains within for inner play
No haven anywhere the clatter from

Our engines of destruction and of ease
Our traffic, on the roads and in the skies
The media our lowest instincts please
Base argument which all our love belies

We fill up Nature’s sweet, melodic air
With sounds of violence, sorrow and pain
There is no respite from it anywhere
Move to the country — find it there again

For they turn on the television will
So we can listen to the latest kill

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Ana Daksina View All →

A poet is the strangest sort of soul
You in this life may e'er expect to meet
More broken even while more truly whole,
Innocently intending well, more sweet

Than any but a five year old should be
Unfit to meet a callused world's demand
Or to behave aught expediently
All grace in flight; an albatross on land

Do not the all too common error make
Do not fall into the too easy trap
Avoid the fatal egoic mistake
Imagining that poet be a sap

Powerful spirits classic and antique
Give voice when poets ope their mouths to speak

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