Grasping Chickens

What is it that you long to ruminate on?

Along the littered shantytowns of swaying occasions

Somewhere between the sea’s glass and forest’s grass
Walk the downtrodden, with slow and patient footsteps

Which erode the soil with rebellion and revolution

How many chickens are you attempting to grasp?

In your outstretched arms, dangling with rusty shackles?

It was my father, who showed me how to enthrall and

Fascinate chickens, with a slowly drawn straight line in the ground
Drawing a line in the dirt, does more then hypnotize chickens

So many of us, can’t acknowledge the disorientation

All these meritocracies and choices flash under dim bulbs

Where do you imagine smelling honeyed blossoms?

When the rest of us, dry heave from the stench of despair
Why do you not hear the teeming billions who scream for life? 

These isolated slanted silhouettes cast a shattered shadow

On the backlit walls of fixated, however yearning, ignorance

Our puppeteers speak always of untangling strings
The best they offer, is a nostalgic return to the beginning  

While the puppets themselves, dream of new freedoms