Perpetuum Mobile

A smell of burnt nails
spreads at the farrier workshop,
horse’s tail swirls
trying to get rid of gadflies.
The man brought him here,
tightened the rope
and bellows are now panting
heating a purple fire.

The horse would cry if he had tears
in this perpetual torture
with his guilt measured
by the size of his hoofs.
Still he stays tied to that pillar
while sledgehammers hit rhythmically
as on a church bell board.
Then he recovers to be harnessed
dragging the wagon
far from the green pasture
where he was biting the grass
in full moon light.

Now the road is sloping,
his body aches
wrapped in the scent of yellow hay.
Everything rests the same –
men, horse whips, stables and night’s Pegasus.

Advertisements
Categories: My Poems in 2010 | Tags: , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Post navigation

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

Create a free website or blog at WordPress.com.