How?

I met a man who wasn’t there
He shook hands like it was a test,
Saluted and looked past me.
What is our right to condemn?

He shook hands like it was a test
Told me his sanity was saved
Saluted and looked past me,
Speaking of mysterious powders.

Told me his sanity was saved –
He is a fisher of men –
Speaking of mysterious powders,
The ministry that saved his life after Iraq.

He is a fisher of men
I only listened to him tell me
Of the ministry that saved his life after Iraq
How can we ask them?

I only listened to him tell me,
Tears pricking
How can we ask them
For everything, in exchange for oil and comfort?

Tears pricking
What is our right to condemn –
For everything – in exchange for oil and comfort?
I met a man who wasn’t there.

Posted for the Monday Poetry Potluck.

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9 Comments

  1. love your imagination.
    beautiful implication !

    Reply
  2. Beautiful flowers and days were still not over then he smote hand hi wated for….

    जय दुर्गा जी, जय काली माँ
    Jai Durga ji, Jai Kali Ma
    Twitter: @VerseEveryDay

    Reply
  3. Lovely sentiment in a beautiful poem, yet so sad in the end. Thanks for linking to Potluck :)

    Reply
  4. I loved this… wondering what form it is written in? The repetition was lovely and took me to a deeper space in meditation. Now I know why I was specifically lead to read your poem…. it went beyond the norm in being evocative.

    My Offering for Poetry Potluck.

    Reply
    • Thank you for sharing your experience with my poem. I really wanted to reach out to people with this poem.

      The poem is written in the pantoum form. It is a French form adapted from a Malaysian storytelling form.

      Reply
  5. I loved the flow of this, though it was very sad. We live in such a selfish world…

    Reply
  6. http://jingleyanqiu.wordpress.com/2010/10/16/happy-birthday-wishes-to-talon/

    help visit Talon to wish her a happy birthday today,
    Thanks!

    Reply
  7. Scent of my heart

     /  October 18, 2010

    beautiful game of words!

    Reply
  1. 90 Minutes of Writing | Lizbeth's Garden

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