I ran through enchanted forest,
when i was brazenly young,
with my cold fast feet,
barely touching the ground.

The sun was playing childish games,
making various patterns through the leaves,
the wind was chanting forgotten songs
through souls of tall willow trees.

I was captured by this beauty,
by the solitude in which i roamed,
where ever i went away from this place,
i knew the road will bring me back home.

you are my paper-cut
wound that wont heal;
you are the water in my lungs
my Achilles' heel.

around my neck- tight noose;
my quiet self abuse;
my lucid dream-
my silent scream;
and faulty safety fuse.

A thousand wind turbines stand like men
on a hill in Texas. Each with a red eye which
blinks in the night. A thousand men stand
like wind turbines on a hill in Texas. Each with
two blue eyes, shut the entire night, the entire
day. There is a chapel on the hill.

I die small deaths at the hand of remembrance.
Wear me like a red poppy on your lapel;
I want you to remember me like this:

in the rain, my summer dress
sticking to my body, cutting a figure
you've never seen: sadness.
She looks like sadness, she looks
like a tired box of bones with her arms
outstretched
calling out for love.
My eyes running with the water,
and repeating your name like some
******* prayer
and your arms like anchors and holding.
Nobody is ever going to love you like I do,
I said and you listened.
You listened then,
in the broken opus of rain hitting tin roofs,
and the ground melting at the touch of something
so pure.
But what of it, anyway.

You're going to need a bigger bunch
of flowers than this to make it right
this time.

i'm going to die here, i know i will,
they change their scope of helping me,
every time i slide farther down the hill,
"you can have this pill at a certain time,"
"NO! Wait! We've changed our mind,"
"you can have it at this new time, how kind!"
"just make sure there's someone on who can tell the time.."

and if i lay here waiting, for what i may or may not get,
my hands will slowly tremble and my mind so deeply frets,
all alone in this wrinkled bed clothes, no one sees me yet,
but now the nurses have come to me with a little more regret:
"the doctor says you'll now have to wait 7 more hours for relief,
it seems he doesn't like being awaken at nighttime when he sleeps."

so, i get to feel my tears build up behind my bloodshot eyes,
no one is here at all to help me understand just why.
you should see me now alone trying so hard now not to cry,
all i feel is stunned, cold shock and this feeling that i will die
--i'm going to die here, bit by bit, inside out and all alone,
i don't know what to do or say, or how to make last atone,
for all i've done in my life, that has brought me to this place,
to compose this death-wish poem to read as tear-drops paint my face.

but, for now with nothing else left to do in my hospice room,
i do the last thing that i can do the best, just write and wait for doom.

is there anyone out there?
help, help, help me, i beg and try to plead!
will anyone please come here,
hold and hug me in my need?

i'm  going to die here,
and i'll be all by myself,
left alone like a broken knick-knack
on a dusty shelf.
___

The worst place to be on a Saturday evening is without a doubt
The orphanage on Broadway.

You see your friends' charming glares and airy laughs;
But then
You feel the children's wounded gazes and eerie smiles,

And they travel with you
For miles.

Look into my eyes and you shall see
The innocence and solitude in me
I am all alone in this massive ball
No one to pick me when I fall

Touch my body and feel
The absence of countless meals
I have dug into several bins
To find a morsel from trashed tins

I have slept on cold hard grounds
A better place, still not found
I was soaked by the pouring rains
And disturbed by noisy trains

I have played with broken dolls
Drawn with charcoal on overfilled walls
I have prayed to all the gods I know
Their love makes my soul glow

I am a child too
Don’t deprive me of you
Cuddle me in your arms
A little crave for love means no harm

I know I am an orphan
And might not even get buried in a coffin
But don’t shoo me away so recklessly
Where is your humanity?

Don’t throw that money and walk away
Please hear me out or for a while just stay
If you know of an orphanage, take me there
I no longer want to live in despair.

-Zainab Attari

638

To my small Hearth His fire came—
And all my House aglow
Did fan and rock, with sudden light—
’Twas Sunrise—’twas the Sky—

Impanelled from no Summer brief—
With limit of Decay—
’Twas Noon—without the News of Night—
Nay, Nature, it was Day—