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Dhirana Jul 2014
Limping on charcoal, wearing a smile.
Stuttering in the night and
staring at poison,
wearing a coat with bones for a mask.

gaze at stranded trees in highways
raided by dust and smoke.
dreams of smudged paintings, broken arrows
were stolen and sold for a dime at stores.

Soft, blue stars fell in the dusk of night
and I was stranded with half a mind,
under the city lights
that snuffed out the dreams and wishes
made under the starry skies.

Colder nights than the deserts
my lips are a shade of blue, cyan,
fingers numb with scarred knuckles
hold hands with ghosts and lie to their graves.

Six-inch bars keep the sane out.
I lie to myself that pastel conceals my eyes;
while I made red wishes
stealing coffee from tables every other night.
Outer space,
is just vacuum with a couple of stars that die. ©
Dhirana Jul 2014
set wilting flowers with a bright smile
sketch hearts on curling paper scraps for him and
steal carved needles by dark.

“Stay away from him –
He pulls strings with no puppets at the end.”

the other nurses wore white on white
like the ceilings and floors,
screams and sharp chokes.
hard cuts on soft hands,
straight lines piercing bones.

the sky is a violet
red and aching
scattered leaves and broken twigs
bruises upon lip-stained skin.

trace braille for the songs in his mind
rub charcoal on your cheeks
the hollows of your eyes –

he trips on wires,
a dead noise.
a rope sunk with the ghost of his last voice. ©
Dhirana Jul 2014
The red lines on his wrists don’t belong to him.
Gun fires! Grenades!
They drink coffee from a cup
between glass doors.

he rubs the red patches away,
             they still leave a slight stain.

“Mothers’! Come out into the streets!”
The little children hold tiny daggers up to heaven
blind, to the stars and oceans.
Lost screams under rail tracks,
their eyes twitch.
“Mothers’! Come out into the streets!”
See the blood of your children run down in streams.

the red patches on his hands fall in love;
                                                  they became contagious.

Standing under a grey sky,
on a ground marked with an X.
He prays.
Comrades become detonators,
when the living start to die off.
He prays.
There are more bullets in the bodies
than in guns.
He still prays.
(Orange is his favourite colour.)
He sees a sunset before the dark invades.
I submitted this for a mentorship application, along with Cold Nights and Charcoaled Cheeks:) Comments would be great!
Dhirana Jul 2014
shattered glass in midnight bonfires
I see strips of flames dissipate into the night
and it never burned my
I held blue flames in my hands and burned
my fingerprints to form
jagged lines that melted ice like a
scorching pair of lips.
with a sigh, they turned to walk away
setting fire to the roadside.
The flames morphed into scattered coins
incinerated by the sorrow they carried like an anchor
that sunk,
pulling them down to the sea bed to
sleep with the ocean at midnight
where the flames drowned,

and the smoke turned into words without a sound.
  May 2014 Dhirana
W. H. Auden
As I walked out one evening,
Walking down Bristol Street,
The crowds upon the pavement
Were fields of harvest wheat.

And down by the brimming river
I heard a lover sing
Under an arch of the railway:
"Love has no ending.

"I'll love you, dear, I'll love you
Till China and Africa meet,
And the river jumps over the mountain
And the salmon sing in the street,

"I'll love you till the ocean
Is folded and hung up to dry
And the seven stars go squawking
Like geese about the sky.

"The years shall run like rabbits,
For in my arms I hold
The Flower of the Ages,
And the first love of the world."

But all the clocks in the city
Began to whirr and chime:
"O let not Time deceive you,
You cannot conquer Time.

"In the burrows of the Nightmare
Where Justice naked is,
Time watches from the shadow
And coughs when you would kiss.

"In headaches and in worry
Vaguely life leaks away,
And Time will have his fancy
To-morrow or to-day.

"Into many a green valley
Drifts the appalling snow;
Time breaks the threaded dances
And the diver's brilliant bow.

"O plunge your hands in water,
Plunge them in up to the wrist;
Stare, stare in the basin
And wonder what you've missed.

"The glacier knocks in the cupboard,
The desert sighs in the bed,
And the crack in the tea-cup opens
A lane to the land of the dead.

"Where the beggars raffle the banknotes
And the Giant is enchanting to Jack,
And the Lily-white Boy is a Roarer,
And Jill goes down on her back.

"O look, look in the mirror?
O look in your distress:
Life remains a blessing
Although you cannot bless.

"O stand, stand at the window
As the tears scald and start;
You shall love your crooked neighbour
With your crooked heart."

It was late, late in the evening,
The lovers they were gone;
The clocks had ceased their chiming,
And the deep river ran on.
  May 2014 Dhirana
Mary Elizabeth Frye
Do not stand at my grave and weep..
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow,
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain,
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awake in the morning's hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft star-shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry..
I am not there. I did not die.
Dhirana May 2014
“Do you think we can count stars tonight?”

“Why not?” I replied.
I sensed the smirk playing upon his lips.
Smiling, I continued tracing my fingertips over the braille upon the music sheets.
not much a poem, just a thought
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