Against All Streams
by Walter William Safar
My dear mister banker,
You want to push me into the wild river,
To swim downstream,
But I’m a strange kind of animal,
My hunter,
I’ve always been swimming against all streams;
When death emerges from its judicial seat
To be kissed by solitude,
The morning shall start, like a pilgrim,
Towards the new day.
In the heart of the building made of marble and gold plating,
A song will echo in praise of mister banker,
Who weaves his web in his silky empire
For to catch the unwary;
Mister banker is a very cunning hunter,
He knows all the carnal ways of the world,
And he will always let others run ahead,
Because he knows that each and every road to hell
Is paved with gold;
Yes, mister banker,
Yes, and you too, mister hunter,
You who shamelessly and without remorse
Tear the wings off angels,
As if they were but annoying flies,
To throw them into the wild river of life,
To float downstream, like your prepared trophies.
Inside the marble court the game of life and death begins anew,
The scent of perfume mixes with the stench of sweat
Pouring from the salty pores,
So the fish may sizzle all the better in the fire of terrible greed,
When the turnstile of life starts turning,
I know, mister banker,
That you shall tower above it as a croupier,
I see the glow in your eyes.
No, mister banker,
It is not a bright and happy eye,
It’s the fever of a trophy hunter!
I would like to entice human tears from your darkness,
I would bury all authority and greed deep into the ground,
I would dig the dead emotions out of the soil,
But you are still looking at me as if I was a trophy buck.
I still won’t give up!… Yes, mister hunter, I might be dirty,
An outcast to small and big fish
Who always swim downstream,
But there is still spite inside me,
Because I am unbribable witness in the wild river of life,
Who will always swim against all streams!
—————
The End
And that’s the End of the Poem
© Poetry Monster, 2021.
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