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Black Ink Drops

A Great Machine


       great machine,

       the most magnificent of all!

With many valves and many wires,

with plumbing and electric sparks,

with grace and strength,

with poise and voice.


A great machine!

the most complex.

I stood admiring it at best.

Its motion and its sound,

its liveliness and something that is called a mind.


That spark that makes you know it is alive,

with wit and grit,

and goals,

and chores.

A great machine!

the best of all.


Intrigued so much by its design,

I set to learn about its parts.

In books and ancient rolls,

I’ve traveled far.


The heart is literally a pump,

that beats non-stop,

a rhythm strong.


unless of course it flutters!

By that someone who makes you blush.


There is a wiring so complex

it can connect all parts and tell,

what’s going on from head to toe,

and even feel a gentle touch

by that someone whom you adore.


I learned the parts and how they work

and took a job at the repair shop,

where hearts would stop and beat amok,

where pipes would clog by large blood cloths.

Where older models become silent

and shiny new ones are born resounding.


And at my daily busy work,

sometimes I stand aside and look

at the machine that I admire

to see the person that there lives,

to understand on how it feels.


They come distressed to the work-shop

with their malfunctioning body gear

and sour,

and pained,

and in deep grief.



how is your world? what do you see?

when all works well and with no leaks.

Where do you go? What do you do?

What things out there have you perceived?


What roads you’ve walked?

Whom have you met?

Whose hand you hold during sunset?


Tell me your stories of wars and battles,

of love and heartache.

of daily matters


Tell me a story while I fix this,

your squeaky valve,

your wounds and leaks,

YOUR great machine!


Black Ink Drops



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