The Holy Man


The holy man that he wants to be is here now.
He has olive coloured skin.
The white shirt that he wears doesn't fit him somehow.
He is a bit too thin.
The manner of his voice and the sweat on the brow
Say he still needs to win.

The holy man who sees through his eyes just shadows,
Wakes but lives in the dreams.
He removes his sunglasses just to see rainbows,
Those simple coloured schemes.
What he takes for granted shows for what he wallows,
Like a row of face creams.

The holy man has the antidote for the sin,
That some might disallow
For the fear of getting firmly kicked in the shin,
Or just to avoid a row.
The crowd will nonetheless wait around to see him spin,
On his head. Holy Cow!

Bevagna, 6 8 2008