The most beloved are sanctuary cities where wanderers come back at night
Warriors in sandals guard the ancient gates
And you, old man, are not allowed in.
Tuns and canisters, swell in spices and ear rings snatched by flying ball fishes from lobes of princes and princesses in a time remote.
Love is persuasion and diaspora
Love is acceptance and consolation that the hot heads in the city ambulant in an electrified ocean
above paving of wings left by angels of martyrdom fleeting above
Gravitas pushes everything down
The old man says “The howl of the wanderers pesters the elderlies and the young crowds show us contempt”.
The shrines on top of buildings encircle banana trees in a ginormous bowl of yellow.
Potassium is required to conduct electrolytes in the bodies of mutants
who are stubborn in their defiance of old age.
“The statue of the general was defaced and regality is at loose end”
Oblong windows are in echoes of cithara, fiddle, lyre and pleasure moan has got a pungent essence of basil at nights
(In 2023 the crisis came, kiddos took refuge in grimy estates.
A diatribe with pharma lobbies left many dead.
To kill death, genetic mutation was employed
Smiles are frozen in collagen
Youth elevated to creed
Obviously the old men are kept
out of cities)
The most beloved are our mums who are pregnant with bloom and freshness
In orangeries the new Madonnas are the reveries of our time
And the policy is to hang hammock in the vice of cradle
And you, old man, are not allowed to rock in.