The oppressor’s wrong – K.B

The oppressor’s wrong

 

 
It hurts my feelings,
My flesh,
My sight.

What a sad show
We show to our kin.

The brutalised mind
Lost its generosity.

It shrinked back
To a bare nagging
Way of surviving.

The joy and the smiles
Are gone in the West.

Stern serious faces
Walk the alleys of Ego
And productivity.

At day time,
They walk
Like two fronts
On the passage
Ways…

A fire spitter
Sometimes
Entertains
Before the lights
Go on green.

In the night,
Those waves
Of fire were
Inspiring,

Like a remnant
Of the first tribes
United for the best
And the worse,
Married to earth
And all living
Creatures .

We’d wed
On the sea coast,
Not caring about
What we say to
Each other.
On that promontory
Where we exchanged
Our vows for a final
Kiss.

You were beautiful
That day,
Before the world
Of finance ate up
Our savings.

Your face grew darker,
And seldomly would
You join me on our bed.

The windows
Remained open
All night,
For love had escaped
When misery was knocking
On our nest.

 

 

K.B

 

 

All rights reserved. 2019.

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