Farewell, my friend

Past battlefields, fanes of heathens, Past temples and drink-breathers, Past luxury church graveyards, Beside enormous salesyards, Existence and grief trespassing, Mecca and Rome aside casting, By indigo sun being burned, Piligrims go on the earth. They’re crippled and crookbacked, They’re hungry and dress-lacked, Eyes of theirs gleaming with sunset, Dawn’s breaking up in their hearts. Beside them deserts are singing, Dead of night is coming forward, Above them stars brightly twinkling, Them screeches of birds followed: The world’s to itself devoted, Unchangeable, non-distorted, Snowily it’s blindfolded, Doubtfully tender-molded, Deceiving to be it’s bonded, Eternally it is unfolded, With mysteries to be opened, And yet everlast-drawn out. It means there is no single point To believe in yourself or God. Thus all values being destroyed, Leaving only illusion and road. And dawns are still yet to come, And sunsets are still undone. Soldiers are to hearten the earth. Poets are to anthem its birth.