the archeologist

his head in the distance of

time

diminishing like in Giacometti

style

his arms stretching/stretching

out a long way into the past

where he digs to find the truth

about the existence of man/

woman/child

his body has morphed into a

rock he digs about/around

dusting off the sand of ages

he tires out and snoozes

but gets alive

having come across a great

find – the sculpture of a green

woman/half blue

dunked into the surrounding

mineral juices

a bronze aphrodite

beauty symbol of ancient times

he carries in his arms

as if her feminine power

had instantly denuded him

catapulting him into the

half-blood prince

who fell in love with her

in spite of all intrigues and

fights for her favours

it was him

who had won the fight

in the end

with tenacity and patience.

the archeologist.

zoltanzelan

zjg-poetry’20.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.