I was hungry.

And you said, 'I wish you food.'

But the meat remained in the drawer,

the potato, unpeeled,

the oven, un-kindled.


I was thirsty.

And you said, 'I wish you drink.'

But the cup remained on the shelf,

the ice, un-melted,

the well, untapped.


I was sick.

And you said, 'I wish you health.'

But the medicine remained in the cabinet,

the wound, un-cleansed,

the pain, unrelieved.


I was in prison.

And you said, 'I wish you freedom.'

But my heart remained locked behind this mask,

the truth, un-emancipated,

the darkness, un-dispelled.


If words alone were sufficient,

I would stop imagining goats.

If wishes were all it took,

I would have been my own sheep.

Poetry and Prose Archives

Hikaru Poet

17.06.04 Front Page

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