Myopia by Syl Cheney Coker
On rainy mornings
You will see them drenched
PEASANTS! Shivering in their emaciated bones
along the boulevards of misery
the boulevards of this country
are railway tracks in my heart
a train of anguish runs on them
rage corollary of hunger
the ricepads of this country
are putrid marshlands in my soul
tended by no magic fertilizers
mountain if the wind blows tomorrow
make me a sabre of that wind
if the skeleton of stillborn promises
dry up in the catacombs
make me the incendiary bomb
if madness we must have
let me be the hangman hanging myself
hanging them hanging the day
not by its neck not by its belly
but by its heart seen in its great betrayal!
