The ivers
Look o'er the dried river
And shiver
At sight of our market's dirty silver
Bagged in the arms of the beavers
Who become stingy givers
Though patrol aplenty divas
While we boom
Into forgetful times of doom.
Why am I silent?
Why am I silent?
Is it that I have nothing to say?
Am I better than the raging walls of the ocean
Which intimidate surfers and sightseers?
Is it that I have no idea how to write
Like the cooing dove in my neighbour's?
Or that I am exiled from native fort?
Why do I shush?
When for noise we know the bulrush
Maybe I am unwise or unsure of my utterance
… No… Yes… Confused I may be
But sure I am that I grow to be convinced and initiated
Into the wise gathering of sages.
North is hazy
North is hazy
Students are lazy
Economy is running crazy
Yet we are busy
Using eyes that are dizzy
Wandering to fro classes freezy
Across deserted knowledge so breezy
Pilgrims are dazy
Travailing across terrains mazy
News of home rings tizzy
Though in company of beloved Lizzy.
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