Best Sadred Poems
Owing you a letter,
No time,
A postcard for now.
I picked the one with a bright red tulip,
I thought about your yellow ones,
The ones with red streaks.
They sound beautiful.
My tulip plants have two buds.
One bloomed
But was sun bleached pink,
The other didn’t open at all.
The drought still takes it’s toll,
Even into spring.
Roses are red
Violets are blue
Family secrets told
Through your hearts spew
A white wild orchid
Bruised and stained with brown,
Its virgin petals touched….
Emerging blooms will frown
Mama lily beat purple,
Her seedlings green;
Siblings often wonder -
Why is he so mean?
As the wind carries seedlings
Away from garden’s home;
Lily’s tears water contused soil
Her heart becomes eroded loam
Roses are red
Violets are blue
Wounded whispers weep
Longing affirmation from you
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
*few thoughts on domestic violence*
The grey boy wrinkles in the hands of greater things, wrinkles up like paper, Hands on
knees and knees on chin, the wrinkled boy trembles in the hand of his mind. The room is
dark, there is no light, and all he sees are shades of grey, his body of grey, the curtains
grey, the wooden door dripping grey, and then he notices: the red water beneath him. And
it makes him shiver. He hears them. Outside; He hears the pitter patter, the barefoot
running, the echoing laughter, and the feel of a cold breeze rushing down a hall. They
remind him of his past, running down the hall to his father’s room, and when the pitter
patter of feet stops he knows the child has fallen, the laughter is the father, the breeze is the
swinging of the child in the air, the whimper is his own, in this dark grey room; He lifts his
knees higher. Uncomfortable as the red pool grows around him, He knows it shouldn’t
grow, he wonders why, whimpers in the dark, and wonders why.
The cold creeps up and he shivers, his teeth chatter away at the night and his knees
knock heads in comfort; The pitter patter of feet comes closer, the wrinkled boy sways to the
ground, A grey feather stained in red. Wracking sobs pump grey into his once rosy
cheeks; The pitter patter turns to thunder. It rumbles down the hall, rumbles to his room;
It rumbles and he shivers and the growing pool of red ripples; He sees his distorted
reflection in the red: “Why am I grey?” He shivers again, he whimpers, tired of shivering
and the cold and the grey and wanting the red to go away. And yet he waits, shivers and
dreads, and the thunder grows louder yet. His gaze fixes on the door as the thunder comes
churning through. His eyes shut down, his knees lock up, and he trembles in the moment.
But as he yields open his eyes, the grey world melts away to the thunder of light, and he
forgets all colors dark or red. All he sees is a little boy, in his father’s arms, and he
remembers the car and the road, the sirens and the screams, and he smiles, thinking of
the laughing and racing of the pitter patter, and wonders why he was so afraid.
© Samir Georges
2010
She is my friend
With whom I shared my every moment
She is some one
Who is more than my life
She don't want to hurt me
So, every time she lied with me
When i expressed my love with this rose
She lied again and accepted my love
But there is no love in her eyes
And my red rose is on the road
She don't want to see the tears in my eyes
So, she lied again and said that she will never leave me
She don't want to see me moody
So, she lied again and said that she cares for me more than anyone
But I can see the truth that she never loved me
And my red rose is still on the road
Why she is doing this? She never talked to me
And I know that she is lying everytime but I cannot ask her
Every day I am with a fresh red rose
Just to plant my true love in her as this rose
But everytime my rose is thrown on the road
When I asked her
She lied again and said this was never done by her
So where is my red rose
Where is my true love
And I found it is still on the road
Now its not red but black
My request to her to come back with my true love
Where I can wait for this till my last breath
If I silt my throat and lay in a bath of flowers
There you could see the red leak out for hours
Crimson rings about my fingers
I watch myself as death delivers
Into the deep darkness where I shall depart
Wrinkled skin washed in brine
upon the edge of the bath a glass of red wine
No more pain, no more doubt
No more silent words I shout
Would see the beauty in what I’ve done
Could you see that my depression has won?
No not today I think I’ll stay
Now put those suicidal thoughts away
Your not done on this earthy place
I struggle to put a smile on my face