An Attic Hand

There is a steed
of life, within all of us.
 
It is tall, muscular,
hyperventilating with the air
 
of our desires.
We all mount it, gaily,
 
carrying an armour
of reason, a sword
 
of free will.
We all make our steed
 
neigh, trot, and gallop
at our own will;
 
until an Attic Hand
grabs its reins.

(Poet's Espresso Review- USA)
©️drjal02

Forgotten orphans

The face of an orphan boy, sitting 
In a lawn of an orphanage, is imprinted 
On the canvas of my mind. 

Like an autumn leaf that has fallen 
From the tree of life, during the spring, he sat 
Among the scattered autumn leaves. 

A veil of misery covered his face. 
An emptiness in his heart overflowed 
Through his sorrowful eyes. 

He sat, wearing the raiment 
Of sadness, orphaned 
By the arrows of a conflict. 

His haunting eyes, tattered garments, revealed 
His sail, a ship without a rudder, 
On the turbulent waters of life.

He lived in a local orphanage like a bird 
With broken wings, with a childhood 
Crowned by poverty.
 
His childhood is stolen,
With insecurity
Sowed in his heart,

With a crown of thorns 
Placed on his head.
His bruised heart whispers 

Into the ears of my soul: 
The cries of orphans, like him, fall on the walls of 
His political masters- a legion of pygmies, 

His priests- a band of empty tin pots, 
His people- a multitude numbed by a turmoil.
With no helping hand 

To rescue them from the claws 
Of poverty and despair, they beseech 
The heavens to relieve their sufferings.

They whisper with the lips of their hearts
Into the ears of the divinity.
They invoke the all-seeing eyes 

Of the Providence: to induce an awakening, 
To plant the seeds of compassion,
In the hearts of their indifferent countrymen.
©drjal02, © https://www.poeticnoesis.com/