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Poem

You have finally returned, but to a ghost town
Where the delusion of red fruit
Swings on the dried branches of barren trees

Nothing moves amongst the rubbles, 
but the bony hands of the wind
My grey memories are dancing to the song of the chilling wind
Right At the feet of the brick wall I once laid

You have finally returned, but to your black widow
Whom every night
wraps her soul’s ruins
In a well tied garbage bag, behind the wooden doors of town

 You have finally returned, but to this insane woman
Whom every day
Hangs her wet thoughts
On a laundry line in the abandoned street


Can’t you see?

It’s been ages
Since the walls of trust collapsed in this house
And now the Ivy of illusion are weaving deception at windowsills


I am talking to you
The conqueror of my burnt city
Come and pick up my shattered pieces
And with so much pride
place them on the curve of your chest
These pieces are supposed to proclaim your superiority

 
I wish you had known

To conquer a defeated town

Wouldn’t bring you any dignity….

 

 
Dec 8, 2015

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