AN EXCERPT FROM "THE WASTE LAND": (Words by T.S. Eliot. Pictures by a desert biker.)

Here is no water but only rock
Rock and no water and the sandy road

The road winding above among the mountains
Which are mountains of rock without water
If there were water we should stop and drink
Amongst the rock one cannot stop or think

Sweat is dry and feet are in the sand
If there were only water among the rock
Dead mountain rock of carious teeth that cannot spit
Here one can neither stand nor lie nor sit
There is not even silence in the mountains
But dry sterile thunder without rain

There is not even solitude in the mountains
But red sullen faces sneer and snarl
From doors of mud-cracked houses.

If there were water
And no rock
If there were rock
And also water
And water
A spring
A pool among the rock

If there were the sound of water only
Not the cicada
And the dry grass singing
But the sound of water over rock
Where the hermit thrush sings in the pine trees
Drip drop drip drop drop drop drop

But there is no water.

Rate this entry's writing	Heart	4
Comment on this entry	Comment	0