Poetry

Roman Forged Nails

(On seeing origional nails forged by the Romans in Porto Torres. Probably akin to the ones that crucified Christ.)

Was it nails, like these driven
Through Christs limbs, on the cross
Before he dies, as if in vain
For man still sins, to spite the loss
Of life, for all our sins offered
For my soul, and yours to save
Was it nails like these that imapaled the Man
Who rose after three days from the Grave?

Dead Romans Names Upon Stones

(After seeing transcripts of names carved into sacrphages excavated at Porto Romano in Porto Torres town)

Of all the dead among the ruins
The poor, they are remembered not
Only names of the rich are carved in stone
The poor, unrecorded, left to rot

But, for all their riches, these Romans too
Like the rich today, they have to die
Just like the poor, as they were born
Did rot, will rot, like you and I

An Artists Plans Thwarted

(After driving rain in Sassari)

Its hard to sketch in driving rain
Words making pictures will have to do
Unless from photos taken - but what's the point
In making of an image a copy new?

The weather Gods, they had other plans
Stopped me, with pencil, ready to sketch
Another day, another place maybe
If I a pencil and paper can fetch

But it is rare that to draw
I am free with time to brood
Like now, life being ever so busy
When free, I'm never in the mood

Perhaps when we have no time to sketch
If not a picture, a breath we should draw
For life's too important in a haze to lose
As if it were a mere movie someone saw.