I
Waxen wings of solid hope
Escape and freedom only
A flight away
Two birdman launches
Riding the wind
Like cyclists pedalling the
Coastal highways of the empyrean
The sun’s golden rays radiate
High up the sky
Igniting their dreams.
Gales whisper to the elder’s ears :
Promising home.
Promising
Ithaca.
The birdling’s eyelids scorched,
An ember blinding him from
his old man’s warning
Wishing to go further,
He climbs up to heaven
Waxen wings melting
Catching fire that singes
Every synthetic feather
And soon he comes crashing
Straight down the sea
Like an aimless comet
Fallen from its orbit
Plunging deep the abyss
His Tears turning the sea salty,
He closes his eyes and
prays he wakes up at
Home.
II
Regrets frostbitten with water
Grip his throat,
Kelps and barnacles
Anchor down his drowning being
Still coldness embraces him
Ready to accept death
He opens his eyes, and
Instead of a pitch black greeting
A golden fortress stood
Before him :
It is Plato’s mythical island,
A sunken city of regal majesty
And there,
Right before darkness clouded
His eyes from the aquatic spectacle,
A rainbow scaled tail woman
Opens the music box in her mouth
Singing to him a lullaby
His father once sung to him
In the middle of a tempest,
a cold cream-less coffee
in his hand
The lyrics flowed within him
As the waves rock him to sleep
He is home.
