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Keys Giri Poem
Hands brush
Against
Spinning prayer
Wheels
Gentle wishes
Drift among
snap-happy
Tourists
Who Forget
This moment
Joyful children
dodging
Wandering priests
Met by
Disapproval
Swaying flags
Teased
by the breeze
And
The Stupa
Towering above
Us all
Copyright © Keys Giri | Year Posted 2017
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Details |
Keys Giri Poem
The flit of peach chiffon skirts,
And seas of swirling dancers
romped, jived, swayed and turned
Their movements in perfect harmony
To a freedom so greatly earned
Her hands, fluidly frolicking
Into the depths of the pulse
In swaying synchrony, she plunged
Her music it bounded, and ricocheted
But the soldiers came storming, storming
Left sharp silence, in their quake
Paralysed to the bone she was playing
For she knew what lay at stake
Their mouths sloppy and over-
Flowing, chanting Germanic song
A stock-like stance without composure
They jived and swayed all wrong
The night grew older, and a
Long line of empty glass progressed
Their laughter, alone burdened
With their many requests
Yet Her eyes shone in defiance
Her trumpet, flew from side to side
The dynamic beat that ripped through the floorboards
Quickly, the room once again alive, whistles and cries
Mingled admist, the scuffle of ebony shoes
But the soldiers came storming, storming
cold gazes fixed upon their target,
With one swoop they pounded her
With one swoop they dragged her
Like a tranquilised animal they had her
Her golden trumpet lay dead
Its golden coat tainted
Copyright © Keys Giri | Year Posted 2018
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Details |
Keys Giri Poem
I have a confession to make
I have a teeny, weeny
slightly crazy
morbid fascination with serial killers
There I said it
Judge me all you want
But that won't stop me from
Fangirling over charles manson
Watching rerun upon rerun of
hannibal
When I tell my mum I'm finishing my homework
At 3 o'clock at night
But not to worry
Cause on second thought
I happen to think there just maybe a
teeny, weeny
slightly crazy inkling of truth
to that statement
Copyright © Keys Giri | Year Posted 2020
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