For a moment you were there
Yet when I looked, you
were gone.
Just like a vision.
Lost in the spectrum of time!
As I
reach out to touch
I feel the emptiness of space
All that is left is
memories
Of your smiling face-
Configured in my mind.
To be
recalled at any time.
Like the ticking of a clock-
Every sunrise,
every sunset
Becomes a memory of yesterday.
Locked inside
Like a
prisoner, trying to escape-
Back
Into the realm of reality:
I
recreate in my minds eye
A vision of how it used to be.
Never to be
again!
Phyllis Nikbakht
May 18, 05
Silhouetting hearts made of stone
Ghostly figures in Ghostly halls
Like Lifeless shadows-hanging
All around those crumbling walls!
While heart and mind they intertwine
In death alone, they shall arise
Wearing masks ofsilken thread
On blank-ed faces in disguise
Risen from their shallow graves
As onward into battle go
These relics of the now undead
To defeat the army of the foe.
No heart no soul no given fear
Gaping eyes that cannot see
No expression, no emotion.
Brings no sadness, thus no tears.
Phyllis Nikbakht
Oct. 28, 06
The Land of Nowhere on the Edge of There!
The Land of Nowhere
Is on the edge of There
Where no one has a name
And no one has a care
They are all little people
Who act and think the same
With no imagination
With no gain to fame.
But that was their village
And their way of life
Trying to bring change
Would cause great strife
Why bring chaos
To a peaceful situation
With such small minds
There could be deprivation
When along came a stranger
Who was glib and cunning
Immediately he began spinning
All kinds of colours
Mesmerizing their simplicity
Taking control of their minds
Breaking down their resistance
Taking charge of their land!
Slowly but surely
Unrest started to arise
They all became cranky
Tears filled their eyes
They couldn't see the picture
That was being painted
And that their lives was being tainted
By lies and deception
By slight of hand
By the Lyre being played
In the Pied Pipers Band
And so they danced
Till they all fell down
And on the Fool they placed the crown
He spun and spun, till out of control
And no one helped
That Poor Fool
They let him create
His own demise
He was measured by wisdom
Not by the size
Of his own wisdom
So what would happen
If it were you or me
Would we understand
Could we really see
The cruelties of life
And what life has done
To people who march
To a different drum
Will they drown
Will they founder
Can they no longer
Hold on to beliefs
Of freedom from oppression
Phyllis Nikbakht
Jan. 18, 05
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