Broken mirrors Broken hearts Broken minds Like shards of glass The patterns forming a work of art Shrouded by demons of the past
The black cat saunters over Tipping salt as he alludes To the bad luck I can’t dispose of Rubbing salt into my wounds.
I see an Orthodox priest A ***** blonde with blue eyes The people murmur as he passes by Garlic, they cry, To fight the psychotic presence In order to eliminate This demonic essence.
He blessed an expectant mother In flat #43 He doesn’t recognise her folly And leaves her in glee.
A young soldier One among 3 Died after his cigarette was lit From the same matchstick As the clock struck 4 A constant reminder Of its incessant tick-tock In spite of the woe
The woman- pregnant no more Comes to the cemetery threshold Wishing her late husband And stillborn boy cheerio.
I look at the sky There they glide, the harbingers of evil Thick billed ravens and crows A symbol of one’s sorrows Flying over the dead In search of a feast of despair.
Leaving my new shoes on the table I kiss my love’s forehead And point at the rainbow outside While thinking I’m the luckiest woman alive.