the rocks that rumble silently are mine
earth sounds i hear beat rolls across my room
i scratch the beat that’s dead created time
and weave into this solid mass time loom
rock is the photograph of times ruin
continuation clings like a disease
yet the living sleep inside a tomb
entertaining themselves with memories
winding antique clocks under christmas trees
ignorant of timeless and flawless days
writing diaries and painting the seas
chiseling emotions from time stained clays
and i pity us, if we too follow
these blind hypocrites in time they wallow
(1967)
ZONGS OF ZAMZARA 
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