rice

once were we noble among rice fields
with a single grain enough to yield
the masses. banana leaves were plenty;
we placed them over our palms with a
a handful of rice that sustained us
from typhoons, under all that inglorious
rain. the rice was sufficient. sticky.
sweet. we were content. we thought it
was ample. the sacks were endless. still,
poverty wanted more from us. deliberate.
discontent. the hunger dug deeper into the
conscience until soul, spirit sacrificed
to no limits… the rice tasteless in our
mouths. we now know, no rain can wash it down.

hunger

i am hardly filled with the contents of
you. a deeper hunger strikes me to the
point of starvation when i can’t see
or sense you near me…. my stomach
drops. an endless howl begins to empty
itself into the wilderness where i lost
you… where i search for you night after
night as i scour corners of dreams, pray
for light to guide me down weary pavements
so as i may follow into the path of your
destiny, figure into the roads so i may
circle back to you again and again until
the void inside me is replenished with
the hope for possibility; because i’ve
never eaten a morsel, nor tasted such
water as i drank them from your lips

© mr gahon 9/1/15