Where am I?
A gallows rat in the tongueless streets
stumbling in the dark, crowd pushed
naked in a rough cape
a clasp doesn’t close
Nauseated whiffs of smoke, spit and saliva
the sky’s a dull black, far stars bewaring
the pale sickly moon, unyelding
to the floor she crumbles
Shipwrecked, feet wounded, on a wall
throat blocked. Spices, drugs and chains
the slave market exhales.
Her frail skin trembles
Someone looks and disgustedly leaves
her right eyes grouped by three
Fear stains and stinks
as her enemies seek she
Can nothing. Head too heavy, veins
clogged by stone. Pupils fleeing
rolling in the head bone,
senses senseless desiring.
Unknown hands grab her, as weightless
she flails, as broken doll jointless
and stupidly raves, (delirious)
but nobody cares.
Fire, if only, in fire I could be!
The cold, it maims and it kills me.
One in the many, shackled and wary,
she’s just ash in the wind.
Of incense a memory,
beneath market’s stink
Death begs, her mind losing the light
the stars staring guilty, until she rises
from straw smelling of piss.
Her eyes closed (by fists)
Drunkenly walks before the sunrise
wind blowing of distant sand wastes,
the desert, its hug
of heat endless
Light that bone whitens
light saint and saving
parts open the shadows
defies the horizon
it’s crimson and red and then yellow
it’s in her eye and the others
she finally breathes, cries,
laughing arms opens
to dawn.
Helia,
she shines with the Sun