Who is this man
Staring back?
Staring back?
Who doesn't understand
The past lives he sees
In the strange lines
Around his eyes,
In the corner of his mouth
Pulled by the gravity
Of empty days.
Pulled by the gravity
Of empty days.
How his craving fingers
Reach for her.
She, a ghost from yesterday,
Haunting his today
As he folds sandwiches
Into metal blocks;
In the CDs stacked in silence
Mocking, like old photo album;
In crackling fire which roars
In his spine when frustration hits.
Who is this man
Who sits beside me?
A stranger whose ego
Tells him thinner, wealthier,
More success is better.
He speaks in tongues
Which fork the decaying land
In which my heart is planted;
But the land is dead, hollow seeds
Wait for germination by
Diseased ants with flaccid cocks;
My soul hibernates, till the day
Of my execution,
When my torn body can return
To the worm licked soil
Where ancestors remain.
This is me; the I who rests
On my shoulder, is he.
Who is this man
Who longs to escape his body?
How can I manage her absence
On days when the blue is bleached
From cold sky?
I long for her, for her kiss
To warm dun blood.
Embrace me, embrace me, embrace me
Nocturnal witch cast your spell
Make happiness and sadness,
My mauve smile and rouge frown, merge
Like spilt water colours.
Kiss me, and drain the ink blood
From my veins
With your golden brown mouth,
Kiss me and let beauty
Be mine once more.
No comments:
Post a Comment