poets

Poets

are the magicians of the unseen, 

snake charmers of winds and thoughts, 

wolves echoing the lamentations 

of a broken heart. 

Through their blind retrospect

we taste crimes of the living 

and the dead, smell the pollination 

of a rose upon the diamond mount 

of the soul, 

clutch a stormy Alaskan 

winter of the heart, free the taste buds 

of paellas of disgrace, a father 

who has left his first born helplessly asleep

on the highest peak of the Himalayas