Where are you, O splendor?

Where are you, O radiance?

Where are you, O peace?

Here is your poet locked up inside some wild shrubs

Have you ever noticed?

He has some lines

He has some clematis vines

But who will buy all these during this odd time?

As you know now this isn’t not the age to being sage

The course of the brook has changed

All streams are flowing to opposite realms

Classiness is fractured

And abscess on the face of magnificence and its lips 

What your poet can do during this eclipse?

Your poet can only solicit

And become a mystic

However, if the sky doesn’t listen to his call,

what can he do?

He can spin and whirl around the wheel

He can frisk and leap shaking his hip

However, if the sky already determines his collapse,

what can he do?

He can only see and observe as per his ability and nerves  

He can only hear as per his ability with ears

He can breathe and lift his mental gear

However, if the sky robs his tears, what can he do?

-Somoy Shafi