
The great eagle
Gliding on a flying
Magic carpet
In the blue sky
Breasting the air
And sees the wind
Carry a herd of clouds
Like a ghost shepherd
Skybound, spellbound
Breathtaking, neverending.

The great eagle
Gliding on a flying
Magic carpet
In the blue sky
Breasting the air
And sees the wind
Carry a herd of clouds
Like a ghost shepherd
Skybound, spellbound
Breathtaking, neverending.

Those thousands of wishes
Those thousands of dreams
All vanished into the ether
Like a fleeting mirage
Of shining waters yonder
When the fates saw them
Not hers and let demons
snatch them again ever
Until she left this life
And returned to another.

“All’s for the best
In the best of all
Possible worlds,”
Says Pangloss,
A man who uses
His reading against
The Human heart
As Candide sees it
Drowning in the sea
And his egalitarian
heart has no place
In the best of all
Possible worlds.

I’m a foreigner
Airborne, soilborne
Uprooted, misplaced;
Faces look ugly
People are strange
When I am a stranger;
I can’t go back home
Either, anymore, forever
For I’ll be a stranger there;
But go you to anywhere
From where you’re born
You must needs to be one.

An astronaut may orbit
the earth in spacecraft
and colonize the moon,
but an astrologer watches
the constellations of stars
that house the spirits
like he’s done for thousands
of years from the sacred
stairs of the ziggurats of Ur
and tells of the stars
that made us.
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