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Dambu Lui Gaf



Climb some hills and lose some breath.
Lie in a shrine, on wet grass, I told them,
The Earth is not fully peopled yet.
And so many now are young and dying,
The young dies fast and furiously,
And old men with broken hearts are crying.
My Pavel is dead, he died so violently.

Old Platanov, go back to Dambu Lui Gaf
When the opiate mist of morning is gone.
Let her fall in the grass, let her laugh
Again, like Sandy Booker and his fawn.

There are too many wars, and too few lovers.
Open the borders of the flaming sword.
O climb the hills, and smell the flowers,
Young Pavel died, and the silence is heard.

I have counted enough bodies, I told them,
Like the specter of birds in a far sunset.
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Submitted on September 02, 2012

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David Smalling Claim this poet

I have been writing poems since I was 12 years; but writing had been my blanket for loneliness since age 11. My father died when I was 13 and poetry was my therapy for pain since then. Only I wanted the world to think, feel, laugh, but not cry. I had been forgotten in the grief of my father's death because everyone else needed the consolation I did not get. I became the even more the withdrawn loner, and saw a world more aggressively hostile. Books became my better friend and drove me deeper into academic seclusion. I wrote thousands of poems everywhere: on rocks, trees, sand, and all over house and school - this was how I interrogate the world, and how I weep alone. Poetry was my quest and comfort. I trusted paper and pen and spoke my truths to them above all else. Yes, I am graduate, a business major, a science major, an humanities major ... still searching for consolation, love, security, and joy obtained in poetry. Then again Jamaica is such an ideal place to live as a poet; the history and memories, juxtaposed against the world, is pure inspiration. more…

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