When Poetry Is Absent
Absences of poetry are felt in the veins
In your blood that tastes a little sour
Your mouth begins to grow a stench
Rivers dry up in your intestines
And your pancreas secretes gooey muck.
Hyacinths grow
Clogging the bile in your liver
Massive trees crumble
In the forest of your heart.
The temperature rises in your lungs
Ice-tops in your brain begin to melt
Flooding the neurons
Killing the planktons
That feed the whale of your imagination.
Absences of poetry are felt in your spirit
That has dampened due to polluted politics,
In the numbness that grasps your memory,
In the long- forgotten emotions
That you once knew
As love, comradeship, and kindness.
Your soul starves
From the clout of your toil
And the daily rampages
From your slavery to capitalism.
Your tears coalesce
Behind your fierce eyeballs
Making you want to feel
But never to show.
When poetry is absent
Your eyelids carry the burden.
Until one day
They shed it
One tear at a time
Each tear turning into blood.
The magic of your eyeballs
Like the crystal balls of a fortune teller
Turn blood into ink
And ink into words.
Then suddenly
Poetry peeks into your soul
Sealing your cracks
Only for a while
Before it disappears again.
