Saturday, July 11, 2009


     Parramatta River

Oh, dear breeze of the river,              
Heavenly wind of,
 The  left brink of the milky way
Embrace mine disgraceful  bones ,
-Of a bleeding dinosaur on  thy bank,

Having, though  blurred  sights ,
Dared  once  to take of to paradise,  
 But was trapped in cages of bones
 Compass,  astrolabe - prayers,
None  of such  I had,
williwaw, catch my sails.

Your goddess is on you,  River.      
Grasp roots of the cruelest  season,
And wash  the ancient   bones and let
Stream  kiss the estuary

Drag   me to the harbor,
A kin  to the  ocean , and
Then,  sweep up  the chocking ashes,
the leftover  of forests and  bushes,

Lets be mixed up brutally,
 like some  sibling- beasts.
 And  having fatal  crushes on each other
regardless of the cracks of bare materials;
  bones,  hearts ... eyes,
and things  dried off tears. .

Let her, indeed, wash me
 peacefully with the softest  hands
And prepares my corpse, and            
Lays me down  with other  species,
all  aimless remains  of  charms,
Or fallen  stars -  fallen lovers,
 who drunk oils and  had eels.

Then let me lie down,
And draw with broken fingers;
 lines and ancient symbols  to read each other ,
Squeaking in time of  revelation like wolves
 Full of memoirs ,  full of glory
Then, the  triumph is yours, River.
‘The wrecked  man is from the  ancient world,
 He was your sibling ,
Having roots mixed with bones of Thames’ banks ,
Sediments of Euphrates and remains of old tribes,
wedged-shaped  scripts
Stylus pen  and a kiln to fire on  tablets ,
Old letters,snakes,  verses, parchments and all lies,
Lost gods of ancient times,
 Prometheus the Greek,
Prophets of Barsom and Cedar and Olive trees !

“I am setting sail for the havens of the blest to seek the wise sayings of great Siro, --Vergilius--  ”
‘Oh, little  man, Siro  was old ,’ the  river shrieked.
 I looked for logogram in  the  footprints,
Traces of  Homer the Great,  Odysseus’,  
Hector , and the dead sibling of Gelgamish.
Pursued  so many  avenues of appeal,
But, none of them  surface the water, River. .

Drift me , River, with thy stream  to
The harbor , the ocean. where  your name and mine
Will vanish  for good,
 Williwaw, catch my sails,
It is the time to find out ,
What  a passer by I was
 Had no tongue, and  had no  real  shape’  .

 Dreadful , still flowing to the ocean ,
 So proud ,so sweet and so sad,
under so many bitches bridges ,
Oh, Lord  of all times,
You have got beauties of all rivers,
 Yet,  rubbish dump you has been,
 Behold tears of virgins,
Clay Cliff, Iron Cove , Subico , Vineyard creek,
the solid metal of  bridges,
and myself.
Oh, lord  of all times,
You are so gray, so sensible, and so invisible ,
 forgotten like a wrecked man stands on  your bank,
Laden with so heavy encyclopedia of ethic ,
Overhearing  the cold  breathing of the city,
  On the edge, on the brink of his  destiny ,
Hearing the massive step of trains, cars and pedestrian, screaming
‘Excessive  brassy jeering laughter of men and women
Playing with rusted- words;
Adorable, fabulous, and marvelous,
where meaningless verdicts  are still
Manipulating tears for love and  lies to Jesus.
Despite drought  and wastes
I sung, midst hopeless species,
Screaming, unto God
“No one feels me, no one kisses me.”
Then, right  there, marvelously ,
 Heard my echo, midst the  Wuthering wind, breathing ,
I am  not a man ,
 I am  but a great  river of Parramaata.”

Kay Hassan            

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