Towers of grey

Million rays have set
On those isles of grey
Half drowned towers
Of clustered destiny.


Once, even before prehistory
As Apollo mated Oceana
She soared up high
As he drew her close
Showering isles astray
as morning dews
In their celestial ecstasy.


Beard kings, short and stout
Walked the ramp
Of those inland water ways
Spread, a linen


They dragged along
Their potbelly gown
Leaving tales of histories
In those mighty royal highways
Of gluttonous raptures.


Chess board lords
In their cross checked moves
Wrecked one another
And blew up blocks
Black and white.


They had queens
Of glittering blaze
Moving statues or
Antique widows.


Had daughters clad
In Persian carpets
Veiled and pinched
To the balcony gaze
Of somber stone towers.


A souvenir regenerated
For the annual harvest.
Alms in decorum
For the fertility gods.


To this land of
treasured pork and improper surnames
Men came, sailing
From the land of marred Albatross


They brought with them
Skin, white and pale
and over run the throne
In a tongue unknown


Wiped off tales
Of blasphemy and faith.
Set up dungeons
for bastard rebirths.
The oceans puked out
Annotated grief of
White washed legends
and fairy tales.


The slanting towers
Leaked through pores
Of wealth and venom
Packed up and plastered
Through high wind walls
Along the bay side
stroll patch lanes.


The full moon tide
Gulped those tales
Of demons and kings
In love and rites


The waves washed off
Shorelines Vast
Fantasies forsaken
Over thick mangroves
Raped and ripped.
On bleeding summers.


There,
On the threshold of non history
In the twilight
When owls howl
You see,
A tower wall in ruins
With portraits bleached and
Bygone wrecked.
Splitting over shores of
Overgrown weeds and
whacking waves


A history, trespassed,
fading
With the evening rays,
Setting west.