The Old Tombstone


Floating around;
in the orbits
celestial and earthly
in search
for wisdom and light
as the earth shifts
through the seasons
of glory and despair
Questions remains
Of our actions
Of mankind,
For purity and interest
From dialogues
And discourses
For rights and wrongs
Through days and nights
In between,
lies my existence
The light
As it follows me
Through the deserts
Across the skies
I am too old,
For eons I have travelled
they say,
The years of my birth,
When verses were in silence
From the cities of lost worlds
In me, as I carry the voices
Of long lost paths, of traditions
Across those routes
Interspersed and silent
Beauty and danger
I am a poet,
I am a lost soul
You see me every night
As the caravan follows the desert
I have no poems inside me,
Hear I voices from outside,
We don’t want new ideologies
Words are cryptic and cold
As my shelters create havoc,
Through the old meanderings
Of my existence, of my time
Of presence, long gone
You died long time ago,
Frozen in time,
The revolutions of words
As the face begins
To form,
The old features
From stone and wood
The old revolt
Of hands and mind;
Covered in dust and wind
The old tombstone!

Kashkin

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