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You cave-like men
men of empty heads
rotten bones
see how the beads of sweat
run down your decaying bones
you void
you bones
whose surface flesh flees
the flesh which dangles
on your bones
tomorrow is today
so you died yesterday
before our birth
we died
we were born to die
we died the day we were born
yet
we live even in our death
we are all dead men
we are living dead
waiting for our time
puffing steadily
while time stands still
or perhaps
has passed us by
blowing away our dust
our kingdom is indistinguishable
we do not know ourselves
are we dead
really dead
are we alive
very alive
but rest you
the time for questions is past
these are days of hollowness
of hateful silences
stony faces
dried
clotted noses
with read patches of blood
splattered here and there
these times allow no questions
men must act thoughtlessly
thought
we banish you
we live with the dead
we live among the dead
we are dying
we are dead
the abyss between life and death
is unknown
we die noiselessly
slowly
with a whisper
(December 15, 1966) |
Khasu, Kona. “The Holy Men.” The Seeds of Time: A Collection of Poems. Mimeographed typescript. Monrovia, 1971. 28–29.
| Line | Typescript | Changed to |
| 34 | the time for question is passed | the time for questions is passed |
| 39 | clutted noses | clotted noses |
| 54 | with a swisper | with a whisper |
