roses
i slip under the door, leaving
them to someone else’s care
as i don’t
mind
anymore
who’s left for me
tell me
as i wear ochre and black
every day that i’m walking
(through
a forest of skinned bodies)
naked
dead
(soul)
don’t talk to me i’m busy
mourning
i’m already in disguise
can’t you see?
i’m crying
silver
make-up
rivers
is it that
whoever drifted away from sight
is considered dead
by the whitest soul?
tell me ’cause
i’m innocent
and lost
tell me
who’s left for me
to cry for?
who’s left
to cry for
me?
i don’t care
i’m sipping tea, and
slipping rose petals under gateways
i’m going to walk through soon
when i had enough
of burying myself
under heaps of earth-
en ware
when i hit home
inside
my cry will let you all
know —
all.
*** Oh, and here’s the link to today’s prompt at dVerse poets pub! We had to take the colo(u)r wheel, and play with colo(u)r symbolism. Believe it or not as my poem is sad, but I had a lot of fun including colo(u)rs into it. Make sure you check out on a few other poets’ contributions too!
By the way the picture was taken by me (and instagrammed) during a walk in Old Montreal. I wish I knew who made this beautiful doorart. ***
Hiroshimem 