Yowling In Heart
Why hurling above the wall,
In front of window,
Hits Missouri's cold air -
with hands, not by wings?
Walking on two legs
Like the blade between
The skin and the aorta
Then in a plastic bag stows
Sands of questions,
Polishing it by fire' lashes!
Why after all times and seasons
Flowing now, like a river of candy,
Behind the reflections of mirrors,
Then fades away and slip?
Sitting like a cat, looking
Toward the dark corners,
Yowling, as if jailed in
A coffin of candles pain
Why yowling now and again,
Above the wall, in front of that window,
Hits Missouri's cold air -
Without wings, my heart!
Written by © Fatima Nusairat
Copyright © Fatima Nusairat | Year Posted 2014
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