eesha-2 - Hello Poetry

To oceans that sway at her feet, clouds that melt in her mouth Trees that whirl at her sight, the earth that swoons at her touch Her scent that pervades in the air that you breathe Constellations that fathom into her being Love that resides in her heart, fear that rests in her mind Her eyes divine and holy, two sable crystals in a sky full of milk Her lips pagan and profane, like pomegranates ripe and rotten The blush of her cheeks, like blemishes on a silk scarf Her smile that enchants you, that you wish was yours or she was yours All music that lowers to diminuendos and all senses that nether to bliss Her presence that is all-encompassing, her attitude dulcet and demure Her valley is the valley of love and worship that smells of zest and warmth

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Mar 23, 2021

Mar 23, 2021 at 10:18 AM UTC

eesha-2

Non existing

To oceans that sway at her feet, clouds that melt in her mouth Trees that whirl at her sight, the earth that swoons at her touch Her scent that pervades in the air that you breathe Constellations that fathom into her being Love that resides in her heart, fear that rests in her mind Her eyes divine and holy, two sable crystals in a sky full of milk Her lips pagan and profane, like pomegranates ripe and rotten The blush of her cheeks, like blemishes on a silk scarf Her smile that enchants you, that you wish was yours or she was yours All music that lowers to diminuendos and all senses that nether to bliss Her presence that is all-encompassing, her attitude dulcet and demure Her valley is the valley of love and worship that smells of zest and warmth

12

Blood. Blood from paper cuts, bloodied knees from falling all day Innocent blood that transferred to bed sheets and I began to hide, its profanity that was sacred but I never understood. And here I am, no more appalled, celebrating the beauty of blood.

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Mar 23, 2021

Mar 23, 2021 at 10:14 AM UTC

eesha-2

On womanhood

Blood. Blood from paper cuts, bloodied knees from falling all day Innocent blood that transferred to bed sheets and I began to hide, its profanity that was sacred but I never understood. And here I am, no more appalled, celebrating the beauty of blood.

7

My heart is thrilled by the still of your hand By the sweet shrill of your command My heart beats in my ears and eyes At the prospect of your lies Thus You will not sing keep your eyes on me You will not still at the sight of me You will not sin Keep your eyes on me

0

Mar 22, 2021

Mar 22, 2021 at 12:09 PM UTC

eesha-2

Circa 1927

My heart is thrilled by the still of your hand By the sweet shrill of your command My heart beats in my ears and eyes At the prospect of your lies Thus You will not sing keep your eyes on me You will not still at the sight of me You will not sin Keep your eyes on me

9

Bigotry has a smell of death The fuhrer would watch piles on piles of empty flesh In the summer of 1941 On the grounds of Auschwitz, that place weighed heavier than a ton Years after the shoah, would this understanding begin to unfold That nothing stains the soul more indelibly than loathe What do the blind see? Your oratory abhorrence they forsee They see, not your bitter visage But their ears crush under the muscle of your burning rage What do the deaf hear? Even years after the passing of a yesteryear I suppose, they hear words, like skin caressing skin Your tirade tearing their tissues like a throw of javelin Along Its path, since decades, turning into centuries Before times were tamed Even after times were maimed Our tongues have plucked Incessantly The plumage of quarantined birds With stubborn shame And a sequence of demise ensues Their voice also dies, so does their silence Because after all Bigotry has a smell of death

0

Mar 22, 2021

Mar 22, 2021 at 10:00 AM UTC

eesha-2

Pentimento

Bigotry has a smell of death The fuhrer would watch piles on piles of empty flesh In the summer of 1941 On the grounds of Auschwitz, that place weighed heavier than a ton Years after the shoah, would this understanding begin to unfold That nothing stains the soul more indelibly than loathe What do the blind see? Your oratory abhorrence they forsee They see, not your bitter visage But their ears crush under the muscle of your burning rage What do the deaf hear? Even years after the passing of a yesteryear I suppose, they hear words, like skin caressing skin Your tirade tearing their tissues like a throw of javelin Along Its path, since decades, turning into centuries Before times were tamed Even after times were maimed Our tongues have plucked Incessantly The plumage of quarantined birds With stubborn shame And a sequence of demise ensues Their voice also dies, so does their silence Because after all Bigotry has a smell of death

25