Monday, 5 March 2012

Le Artiste

They act blind.
They believe wind.
and write their letters, with empty minds.
prose and verses,
some fearful curses.
a faithful empathy
by an cruel child.

why in the end
you always bend?
to juggle your trinity
in your tuxedo gent.
while writing p.s.
will you watch in mirrors?
while crying for lovers
have you lost your tears?
here i come folks.
here i come.
i talk to the stone
in my hands.
make my pain march
on beats of my heart.
my breath is nuisance
to your statue filled graves.

still for you folks,
i will roar like a lion.
i will jump like a monkey.
i will act beggar, monk, priest or just
you and me
even i will dress like a woman
and dance for you,
to quench your thirst.
with love and hate
I'll make you burst.
you will clap,
you will laugh.
'Le artiste! Le artiste!'
and throw bread and coins
maybe your sour fucked up minds
but I'll kick it ahead
'Am i an ARTIST? No, I'm just hungry.
Hungry to believe!'

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