An air conditioned room,
the blistering heat
locked out. The room is full
of people, a sober man immaculately
dressed, a woman scantily clad,
a procurer, a few among the many
filling the space. Countless people
makes for a bare existence
as we speed through
life, a series of
flickering images with very little
similarities. Where people perish
with intolerance and blatant doubt.
Always I know always
the Reaper is arriving, his vigor
infused face turned on
by death. The sizable son of
a gravedigger. Firm
hands, skin wrinkled as when
too much time is spent in
the water. He never was a spotted butterfly
fluttering, green grass, animal
cracker clouds in the sky. When the brothers
Grimm were yet to be. The arrival
is a realization that comes
to me in the form of security checks and bomb threats.
But were the lilies abloom, bees
basking in nectar, were the clams
as happy as the lark, whose
exuberance brought out the shinning
sun, spreading warmth across
the lands, what would be their theme?
Arteries dry, gluttonous buildings
soar high, flickering through his disparaging
reality. Tarnished thoughts, as the next
door boy’s about your daughter, in the way
he can not meet your glare,
foul and adulterated,
yes, it is less than adoration.
I must slide the cold
barrel of a gun into my mouth
to understand his truth, mimic
the whore or butcher. Should i
pound on his weathered
door in one of those cities where
he will shun me like a bastard
child, clawing away from his iron clasp
grasp, tugging at his dingy hair, the ropes
snapping as I plummet.
Louise Kuskovski
very strong writing, overwhelming piece.
Hena Tayeb replied
thank you very much