A night in roam
I can hear the voice of the stars
in the silence of their thoughts.
they are a cursing nation
with their glitters
piercing through the ocean
as they sit on its bowel.
The moon shades memory
of my past in daunting replica:
it lies me to the ground once more,
the ground, the mother that bore me,
whose lips are made of fire.
her kisses bring death.
Loneliness is a city in the night
whose indigence desert for their homes
in the presence of fading shadows.
love comes like drops of water
with meddling sprinkle
as it lightens the sky.
I can see two heads praying in the rain
under no sheet
while moans medley with splashes.
memories trickle down my spines
as two gaudy torsos welcome me home
with their climax rasping in claps.
There’s something always found
in the tales of women with no child;
a life before a body,
a dream before a night,
a rainfall of emotions
before the sun shines his teeth.
the womb is a home whose map is lost,
it awaits a voice to direct her child to her
to fill up her emptiness.
the women trail the path of pain
like dry leaves falling on a healthy lawn.
a child reaches its home
as semen communes with blood;
the women feel at home again
while they leave the exile of want.
About the Poet