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Mehnaz Veetil. Click the Next or Previous links below the poem to navigate between poems. Remember, Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth. Thank you.
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No, I’m not -A racist of sorts, I mean
But detest I do, the black of midnight scene
Purple ,that smirk’d a wicked sheen,
groped, wiggled, with cold fingers keen.
Palled by a convulsed face wretched in pain
viscous slime ,red on bruised mane
Daggers sculpted life off, like insane
Lifeless limbs sprawled out in sunken lane.
Sharp silver deep in thick flesh lame
Ants and moths eager to claim…
Did vicious black mouth my name?
Yes, detest I do, the midnight’s game.