Category: Poems

Pale white hands

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You, never walked in the kitchen,
before that Saturday night,
You said the place was “Dingy,
hardly enough light”

Yet you knew,
Butter knife’s for butter
And bread knife’s for bread
The cleaver was for meat.
Aren’t humans pretty neat!

You were scared of blood,
You were scared of crying,
Once when you were young
You were scared of dying.

You never cried when onions
stung your dreamy eyes,
but the day you walked in the kitchen,
even onions cried.

Bread knife for the left,
The butter knife for the right.
You cudn’t use the cleaver,
For the floor was redder than white.
That night there were no chicken,
Just your pale white hands.

The last time I saw her smile

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The last time I saw her smile,

the Sun exploded

in a purple blaze,

several stars died,

and so did I,

but she’ll be born

again and again.

 

I swear there was a tinge

of unearthly laughter

on her lips that day

they sealed her in a satin box.

Perhaps 

 she was too good to be 

treading on this realm,

and belonged in a treasure box.

My   benumbed words

asked  my tears to name

 a star,

after her…

My pruned soul

tree

They planted me

where they thought was best,

a calm quiet corner

a little to the West.

 

They watered me,

let Sunshine reach,

they pruned my soul

and built a fence.

 

My branches spread.

My roots would grow,

unseen by them,

my thoughts would sow.

 

One Spring day,

I’ll be in full bloom,

my roots spread

confined no more.

 

And when one day,

When I choose to seek,

the lengths of skies,

I’d not get to speak.

 

They would come by

this time with a frown

Cold eyes dry

and Axe me down.