Skip to main content

THE VOID


         Image source by www. Imagesearch.com




Held in the grip by used
cellophane,......sing it's coat
burning reflections, behind
eyelid stuck shut.

The avenue where trees drink
in black bile, rich----with dwarf
willow who throws her embrace
around the dense strands
of old man's beard covered
with thick yellow lichen.
It hangs free like morbid
hammocks whose anchors has
rotted away.

Languid oxalic acid talc,
pits holes in this heavy-metal
collar around her neck
chains dangle like galling
wind chimes she can't stand
The sound picked up, by
straying wingless feathers

one more day, at the bottom
of a bird cage.
Its doors left open, bars
bent into familiar shapes
of escape yet nightengale
sits perched, on her thorny
branch.

Pale wind blows the cage,
onto damp concreate, shaded
in picture seque fairness
Black moldy images keep
her occupied-------immovable
within the void she loves.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

I cannot say I remember

image credit: pinterest Then suddenly they showed the faces  The change had found where they lived  The names were replaced too quickly  They found where they were hid Circled in wagon filled tragedies  No one rides off to the west Attention now asks for a holiday  While famila is held to the test I cannot say I remember  Reading in foreign tongues  How I wish it were yesterday  And this world today was still young.
Post a Comment
Read more

Grief |Poem|

Grief /Poem Image credit: https//www. image search.com This is how I have dealt  With grief most of my life  sharing it on paper instead of humans It feels safe that way, words don't feign sympathy and paper doesn't stutter It makes the grief feel projected As if happening to another person, Not me, never me, never now As if I am a mere character in a distant story As if the grief will end after the full stop, after the end As if fiction will drown reality And reality seem fictitious  But of late, of late the fiction seems to be a maze A maze I have spent too long in A period longer than forever And now, it is too late to get out of and for human touch. If you like this poem or have anything to share, comment below or write at briambredeemson700@gmail.com
Post a Comment
Read more

The dead don't die

She was burning your garbage, her sari caught fire and she died. He was cleaning your manhole, a pipe burst and he died. She didn't receive he wages, she hung herself and she died. He was wading through the drain, he inhaled poisonous gases and he died. Remember. The dead don't die. When the media turns a blind ear, And the state is unaccountable, When there is no money to send his body back home, and the public is indifferent, when his family is not given any jobs, And the city lives on in oblivion, Remember. The dead don't die. As you build your new house, carelessly discared your waste, As you choose your blinders And preach your progress, Remember, The dead don't die. And when you constructy your walls, And lock your gates, When you look paste the filth, And praise the state, Remember. The dead don't die. *This obituary is dedicated to the undocumented and unreported death of waste pickers, sweepers and manual scaveng...
Post a Comment
Read more