sacred blood on broken doorsteps
The beetle leaf forests...the pigeon holes, would
our strands be your roots and your twigs again?
The smiles within our pink
graves safely buried, now we meander this
rigmarole as empty shells -- once home
Tattered as it may, would I attain bliss
in the maternal lap again?
Yellow bicarbonate bombs, smoke-stealing
the blessed sundays and the purple sunsets
Our lost song
deafened by the wail of a motherless child
Soil once born behind the veils
of a solitary tear, here is one for the last time
--me
3 comments:
you talk about a country torn apart?
I talk of a country in the cluthes of corruption and poverty.you talk of co2 bombs? I talk of political manipulation! Longing of Mother's lap ? what abt the son tat soils it? why last time i ask ? there will be a time again when you say i have arrived, though years to come ...
well... the fascination with lanka... i wonder if its jus the political turmoil tht leaves a child motherless or a sublime reference to the taunts of nature tht mite hav left another child sans a family... emotion... distinct change in writing stlyle.. no rhyme scheme... more complex... experimenting i see... way to go!
Good one dude....rhyme is the only weapon that strikes without being used too...this proves it so..
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