The Brotherhood of Man by Syl Cheney-CokeSylr

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The locomotive breaks its run

you descend to adjust your gaze

your century, looking through your narrow point

back into the Australopithecus grove, where, starting,

we hurried to arrive, naïve pleadings, into the rush of age

pagan journey I could tell, when this heart

begins to beat, was no sooner contemplated

before these crevices in my face marked my time

for the poet is he who travels everlastingly

embracing his neighbour embracing his enemy

to love life more to hate death less

in the red evenings the taste of fate

already salting my wounds with regret

goodnight, let us say farewell before we cry.

so that when the fireflies dance round our shadows

nothing would remain but this grove where we ate

the primeval meal before leaving the warm cluster of love

for this cold taste of fate, this glacial world

this night, the locomotive continuing its run

into the never-ending day when I shall embrace tearfully my


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