Stages of existenceA Poem by Golnazhg
The first day of life, when I was born I told the doctor, “I came from dirt and will go back to it in three days,” But on the ride home, swaddled in thick wool; I became one with the air instead. Changing to fill every crevice and nook of every place Be it cramped" Or filthy. (With nothing; something in-between...) ... ... ... ...
And now your three days are done,
Wild with fear and regret,
Fire hissing and spitting in rain
Your house is no longer a home
Your body no longer a place
Where your soul can stay for a moment
longer.
© 2018 Golnazhg |
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Added on April 15, 2018 Last Updated on April 15, 2018 Author
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