Art of Cimeries

My dear old mule,
Old with no fuel.
Weary hoofs and simple mind,
Slow yet long the path behind.

You’ve come back,
When I sold you for a stack.

Stag I gave for a mare.
Fast, yet it does not care.
It sent me flying,
No thoughts of riding.

Yet you are here.
Not my mare.

Fool was I to trade.
Fool was I to betray.
For this fool…
A loyal jack will do.



Poem by Sanjeev 'Cimeries' Retnasingam