Mohammad Ahmad
11-26-2013, 04:14 AM
Mill,
Toward the ocean it will mill
From the rushing wind comes out hill
I take it as a pill
As a poison
It will kill
between
Haven…heaven— yet there is ill
My soul shrank and would be nil
What is to fill?
Order and I shall
Gather the stars to thy sill
As a halo, or the moon's rill
What is to ask my ill?
Is it just pain or ill?
Your flowers are faded going ill.
Your sorrow is inflected to ail.
Your love—
Dull, null, as spotted shabby mull
What is to call?
Years necrosed my bones.
Yet there is flour in my mill
Yet there is oat to crush in my mill.
Yet there is a dark gap to fill.
Across our valley— yet
There is birth preceding death
Even if our souls were eaten by blight,
Yet there is light and delight
Yet there is honour still bright
Toward the ocean it will mill
From the rushing wind comes out hill
I take it as a pill
As a poison
It will kill
between
Haven…heaven— yet there is ill
My soul shrank and would be nil
What is to fill?
Order and I shall
Gather the stars to thy sill
As a halo, or the moon's rill
What is to ask my ill?
Is it just pain or ill?
Your flowers are faded going ill.
Your sorrow is inflected to ail.
Your love—
Dull, null, as spotted shabby mull
What is to call?
Years necrosed my bones.
Yet there is flour in my mill
Yet there is oat to crush in my mill.
Yet there is a dark gap to fill.
Across our valley— yet
There is birth preceding death
Even if our souls were eaten by blight,
Yet there is light and delight
Yet there is honour still bright