a poet's lament

spontaneously my songs have floated
flowed freely from my heart
songs that sing of countless joys,
songs that sing of myriad, dusty tears,
songs that glide over lusty, green plains;

they sang of comforting drops of rain,
of twinkling stars, of bubbly brooks,
of the working man's sweat,
of irresistible liquor's aroma,
of women's enchanting embraces, kisses;

yet, still, i feel too unfulfilled,
for they've remained tucked away, silent,
in the pages of an aging notebook,
unknown, unheard, by many a reader
who longs to be assured he's not alone!

and this, i know, is what a poem must be --
an assurance --
that though we are of different continents,
of diverse tongues, colors, creeds;
our navels are intertwined
our souls are connected
as the beads of a religious' rosary
as the links of a prisoner's chains.