Tired Of Running-Poetry

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The memory
Stands like a cracked bronze statue
in a museum
talking, smiling we are tired with life

We struggle to frustrate
old pressures on our backs,
rain beats the ground, we flounder, slip
But still has to survive the implications

Having traveled far, I came upon
mountains of histories ,
dead lakes on which libraries are erected
wheels of the train pass us
chattering like idiots
billows of future meandered, followed the rainbow

Sugar and salt are same to a dying tongue
I must try to join
the broken particles of my slate
though the line maybe there
and only keen eyes will see that my  slate broke once,
and on walking was joined
the slate with a line, not black, not white
I will hitch hike with pilgrims to Vietnam to harvest rice

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