Where are you going junkie on the Luas?
Your a picture of blissful meditation junkie on the Luas
You look happier than the rest of us junkie on the Luas
And there is a feeling of envy secretly passing through us
Standing here watching you
Captivated watching you
Some fellow passengers do harbour grudge
You just sit there and do not budge
I am not the type to judge
Every woman and every man
Including the farmers in Afghanistan
All involved in this master plan
Like everything produced from our earth’s toil
Be it mainline or be it foil
One absolute constant that cannot go unchecked
Even the junkie on the Luas deserves respect
reminds me of THERE ARE SOME MEN
There are some men
who should have mountains
to bear their names to time.
Grave markers are not high enough
and sons go far away
to lose the fist
their father’s hand will always seem.
I had a friend:
he lived and died in mighty silence
and with dignity,
left no book son or lover to mourn.
Nor is this a mourning-song
but only a naming of this mountain
on which I walk,
fragrant, dark and softly white
under the pale of mist.
I name this mountain after him.