Pour la Petite Bourgeoisie Ou experience de pensée #6

Pour la Petite Bourgeoisie
Ou experience de pensée #6

Your hands are soft
you haven’t touched the land
the land remained untouched as your hands were still soft
no spade.
Your hands were soft
because you hadn’t touched the land
she told me your hands were soft
soft they were indeed
and the land untouched
screamed and sneered and cried
as my hands were untouched
the land undone with no spade
the land is undone and your hands
soft as the bleak cry
of the spade that is untouched
and on your bosom lied.

He unsoftened his hands,
He crouched to the land;
His back wore the burden,
The volcanic command.
His muscles, his sneer:
Sparks of red and green
With wheat full of hands
Bleeding.

The distant traveller retained to
disappear in the kingdom of many an eye
Glancing.
The mountain of his back laid afar
From the by-passer standing on a yellow line;
A toilsome legacy
Of everlasting blast.

Blue creatures screamed
they unraveled the land
upon shadows benumbed
that yet remained
untouched
by the traveller’s eyes
staining steps of linen
‘the land remains untouched’
she told me with a glance
while my hands softened the paper
of the far off countryside.

 
 
 
Gregorio Paz Iriarte is originally from Bogota, Colombia and currently studies English Literature and Philosophy at the University of Edinburgh. Other than writing poetry in his spare time, he runs a French theatre society and directs plays, most recently, “Le mariage de Figaro”. In addition, he is an avid fire juggler and performs at the Beltane Fire Festival.

 

 

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