Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
 Aug 2020 Shrika
Bogdan Dragos
from the violet cloud above
God stretched a
hand and passed down to him
the dagger with
a blade made of frozen ****

“Take this,” said God, “and pose
yourself at the
gates of the school. Offer to
clean the
students under the fingernails
and toenails with it.
Now go.”

He woke up when
the mongrel dog whose tail he grabbed
and squeezed and pulled
started to cry and bark
and turn to bite at his hand

He screamed and backed away from
the poor thing
and watched it run away

He looked at himself

Naked and smeared with soot
and mud and whatnot

He looked around him

The landfill
just outside town

He fell to his knees

****, those were some good mushrooms

He stood and walked
back towards the town
 Aug 2020 Shrika
Bogdan Dragos
you can’t unlock the door
when there’s a key
inside the lock
from the other side

right,
all you can do now is
to plead with your kid to
let you in

it’s 12:47 AM
and kid’s got school in the morning
He’s not asleep
because there was no one to tell him
to go to sleep
There was no one home all day
and this late into the night
and he’s ******
and very hungry, tired and
full of rage

Where have you been all this
time, mom?

Indeed, where have you been?

Better leave the answer
for tomorrow
when the spirits will sizzle
a bit less

Until then
take off your high heels
and the glitter from your face
and the ***** from your hair
and lie down on the
doormat and
maybe pray yourself to sleep

It’ll get better. One day
you know it will
 Aug 2020 Shrika
Bogdan Dragos
It is known
You can never hold on to
an adventurer

and she was one

And she was gone

and he stood by the window
and smelled the
guitar she left behind,
not knowing how to play it

A girl like her
travels around the world
like a sailor and
loves many boys and men
and they never forget her

The one mistake
they all share is
trying to lock her in their
world

It’s like trying to
capture the sun’s light in
a bag and take it
into your dark house

Women like her
are responsible for
men who call themselves
romantics and write love poems
and dream

He struck the cords
of the guitar
once. Looked out
the window. Warm, sunny day.
Streets busy with children
running fast, passing by
adults who walked slow
 Aug 2020 Shrika
Folake
The path I walk looms over me like the darkness that falls at night
But today I see that sliver of light, that of the moon in dark skies.
Maybe I don't have to be sad anymore
Next page