a piece of hair...

 

A piece of hair is left…

it’s one of the many that I have picked from the floor, a reminder of the who it belongs to…

troubled days at end, they come, they go but live forever in my heart,

they seem to be the forecast of my every days activity…

for when the sun shine, and mother breaths, the birds stretch their wings and the monotony of human daily fascinations

or rather boredom relives itself again, we live in a systematic way-,

I’m reminded that the once were pieces of hair I would pick from my pillow…

Pieces of memories gallivanting in solitary rooms, and fascinated by the ore of the eminent regime of topism, all that I’m left with now are these busy streets,

these night sweats that have hollow hole, disfigured corners that invites this woman’s wrath,

this woman’s breath, they call her mother earth… 

for her twilights are as sharp as razor blades that leave finger prints of broken skins,

broken souls, broken hearts, like mine…

she will leave you,- you will leave her and want to come back to her,

for her embrace is warmer than that of your own mothers , its sweeter than any celestial thing you can think of, she herself is greater than celestialism,

she has given birth to Goddesses and Gods at end,

who are to leave her…

Reviews

[54321]

I am very pleased! i clicked to read this poem and was blown away by what I found and read. this is VERY unique. you have a way or portraying feelings that simply shouts them... they stick out and are remembered. this is the best poem i've read all day.

i will read more soon!

-Stephanie

[Gheeneil]

Deep and sensible. Well-crafted piece of writing.