Best Tangor Poems
Oppressive Orange
Another tequila sunrise drifting up from this deserts overheated floor.
Barely daybreak, tangor skies just becoming visible but the sweat already
stings like citrus...
How can this place be called home?...
This place by noon will be an inferno, no shade, no refuge,
just chromatic mirages filled in by reddish sand and sunrays
that burn your pigment on first touch...
How can this place be called home?...
Nothing grows here, no wheat, no rice, no orange groves, or mangoes.
Nothing except the population of the starving and this is where they call
home, in the fluorescent flame of Hell.
How can this place be called home?...
The burnt reddish pigment dominates life here holding everything down
by the weight of its heat. Here it is the beauty and the curse, can it get
any worse?
How can this place be called home?...
The only place on earth oppressed by a color and all of its bad attributes!
The color of heat, the color of life, the color of death for millions of
starving people...
How can this place be called home?