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Kyrie Hajashi Apr 2021
Green violins and caramel wings
My heart shivers as the cricket call
For his love in midnight wings.

The cold moon sings a silver anthem
In tune with the cricket's howl
For his love who's writing this poem.

The front door is open
waiting for love to peek
Kyrie Hajashi Apr 2021
I watch the city burn
Through the vignette windows
Of tear-gassed souls.

And hell's fire ablaze
Between cracks of tears
Of childhood fears
Kyrie Hajashi Apr 2021
Oh what I can do to see and wonder
Upon the sky's garments?
That blue coat over her silver-lined feathers
And her violet robe over her silver emblems.

That red saree which on many morns I swoon
And her black dress that hides a hundred moon.

When the music of the wind is despondent
And cold, a grey sweatshirt she'll put on,
Stitches of tears etched on the firmament ,
what's the color of depression? of mourn?

But when the globes has stopped its flow
And her gilded crown regain its place,
She'll don, with swelling pride, her rainbow
Scarf and her cardigan, pearl as her face.

Oh what I can do to wonder and see
Her gowns, her armor, her star'd necklace
To write in characters, to write in poesy
Her eyes, her storm, her star'd fingers.



                                     the sunset marches in
                                     the sun leaves, she stays
                                     the morn slips in
                                     the moon leaves, she stays
                                     garments and all.
Kyrie Hajashi Apr 2021
Prismatic pillars,
street puddles and tiled roof brown
a sunset playground

The fingers of dusk
tease the streetlamps' petals open
the city inhales
Kyrie Hajashi Mar 2021
Poetry is dead
The sky remains pillarless
The hills still sing

Gardens of deep blue
scrolls of mountain passes
stories unwritten

Postcards from roses
yellow pages of summer
sylvan letters to read

Poetry is dead
The Arctic remains south
Nightingales still sing

— The End —