Classic Poem

He stops, swallows his Adam's apple,
stares at the gate remembering slain comrades
who tried to escape
He walks on.
His eyes see the cup of death in the guard's hands.
The cup will make its rounds,
and the axe's teeth will find the soil.
He walks on,
inhaling and exhaling like other people,
but inwardly seething.
No one recognizes me
or if they do
they may ignore me

I left my hands and followed her
I left my blood and followed her
till we met
and I planted my flaming years on her lips
— Mujanar, is that you?
Where are you going, Mujanar?
— To where my love is
— And where might he be?
She departed with violet fragrance on the wings of space
— There, beyond wishes and prison songs.
And she bade me no farewell.