Rainbow Fish by Marcus Pfister
One day a colored fish flushed its wings
And asked me if I could enjoy freedom
Beneath the blue sky and in open vast air,
Just I made accounts of scraps of death tolls
On this earth and dust could be glorying
Those carcasses and I said amid gloaming
Sun-rays, I want to live with a little boy,
Who always thin, caught in cough and cold,
But fickle parents lived in another sphere,
And my old age and ailments cannot change
This account for living for betterment
And this little boy just carried letters of
Colored dreams and of peaceful heights
Of that world, that he never had in
Earth’s yearning, unless time can change
The written and rubble episodes of whispers
Of blood-soaked crescents, and at this time
I am searching a savior for the boy.
Days are not resemblance of decaying.
