You Left

You Left

If you think your tenor is high,
Like the Arabian soldiers
Sing and try singing forward March!
I have praised your inequality ‘with the sea, sea waves, waves of the whirling forest.
I have melted with the gay appearance,
And disappearance of your always beaming teeth.
I have called you! Called you! At least but alas, you spat on my face.
I’m from the town called moon
And we never eat salt not even salty things twice.
The ravaging sun might have spelt your name:
Let your mind roll that I instructed.
You are now a Hunter
Who kills elephants with the tip of cap.
But, never forget!
I bathed your forefathers with many cups of concoction.
Will you not come back to me?
Will you not jump into this warm hands of aubade and lullaby?
Will you not?



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