Omer Tarin

 Weary, hysterical marches all their eyes clouded over, they trudged in long,  wavering ranks;  From one corner of that  broken land to the remotest, forsaken reaches  This was a hate-filled place for them, they knew it,  But their lords had drilled it into them, drilled to understand  that every sovereign inch must be held on to, must be savaged with maniac force, no matter how many (here and there) bit  the dust;  What were they, then ?  Only nothing, only there to die  in their plenitude  and to kill likewise, endlessly. Sad, that it was all for a map, and  a soiled piece of paper  writ then, and again and again, in the warm and flowing stream  of human blood . 

 I Like a white falcon I flew Wings stretched out in joy Ascending higher and higher still ,  as they all saw me abased II Stones ricocheted and rebounded from my lowered forehead  and a steady drip of love lifted my undefeated heart  III By the Fount Eternal I staunched my wounds, those waters emerging out of the endless deep, shining as it flowed, transforming me all 

 Sitting on the ledge little bird fluffs  its feathers;  I will stay in bed.   Bare trees in the night,  ghostly-white against the snow-- a fox scurries by... Owl staring at me, perched up in the wooden beams;  we are both awake.  Dry leaves in the street scattered by the bitter wind; I watch them sadly. 

Up on the mountain top, looking down,  the whole valley is suffused  by shining lights;  Like the stars, but rotating and expanding, beams that reach out then split, then merge again in golden sheaves, plenitudes;  On ladders of celestial light the children ascend, climbing, climbing,  out of sight. . .   ---------  ---------------  ------------------ --------------- (c) Omer Tarin, October 2023   

 what ails you my friend, my dear heart? your thoughts are dark, cloudy, no longer fair;   something, some burden there is, that that is tearing you apart?  It feels as if your true life is only lived  in intervals,  small moments of bliss  (when all things seem clear),  when there is no longer any fear;  For the rest, there is only the  hushed silence of night,  a waste land stricken by blight;  Here we are awaiting the rain, once again.   --------  --------------- ---------------- ------------- ------------------ from 'acanthus' magazine, 2015  (c) Omer Tarin 

  This Being entails a new form, That diverges from some ancient norm;   It has existed since time began, Ever since the universe ran Like a poor clockwork With a semi-precise staccato, Beating out a tempo, tap-tap, Listlessly bound to the repetitive modes, Long lines of pilgrims, trudging on the roads;   On a rock basking in the sun, a little lizard observes the trailing dust, it dwells upon the mutability of life, longings, vanity and lust;   I, too, observe the scene, Passing by on this screen Of Presence;   No longer captive I can be lizard and man, Together, in the selfsame span.  -----  ----------  ------------- ---------------- ------------  - October 2022, unpublished poem (c) Omer Tarin 2022