The heat knocking through the glass,
Shaking the metal,
Our seats impersonating
Our body heat.
I looked out, a brief pause in journey.
The red light tirelessly blinked
Then and now,
Green would be a go.
He was peeling it off,
He asked me, as usual I said no.
One was handed to the man
With an upturned mustache on the front,
I could tell that was his pride.
Three were alined in a plastic bag,
Their fate still undecided.
Gentle but hurried taps on my window,
They had cars to cover
I think now.
Two little kids in ragged clothes,
I wonder is it the dust of the world
Or the filth of a society's failure
That stains their clothes brown,
Their faces black?
One was of the usual age
They're grown up at,
The other, the age
They begin at.
After a brief and short
And "matter of fact" discussion,
Bearing in mind the kids' busy schedule
I wound down the window,
And decided the three bananas' fate.
The grown one just ran to the next car,
Grown you see,
The little one
Yelped in happiness
Of the fruits rejected by me.
Nothing could sound more beautiful
Than the kid's exclamation
"Bananas"
A giggle.
The red turned off.
The driver smiled
Yet every act was but a drop
I could not collect
To fill the desert of doom.
The heat hovered
And hovered,
The heat that turned
Back at my home
Many bananas black
Until they were discarded.
The flies feasted upon,
The gun is pointed
At the kids.
Sometimes blood leaves no stain.
Sometimes the black stains
On bananas are of our souls.
Jul 7, 2017
Jul 7, 2017 at 10:17 AM UTC
The heat knocking through the glass,
Shaking the metal,
Our seats impersonating
Our body heat.
I looked out, a brief pause in journey.
The red light tirelessly blinked
Then and now,
Green would be a go.
He was peeling it off,
He asked me, as usual I said no.
One was handed to the man
With an upturned mustache on the front,
I could tell that was his pride.
Three were alined in a plastic bag,
Their fate still undecided.
Gentle but hurried taps on my window,
They had cars to cover
I think now.
Two little kids in ragged clothes,
I wonder is it the dust of the world
Or the filth of a society's failure
That stains their clothes brown,
Their faces black?
One was of the usual age
They're grown up at,
The other, the age
They begin at.
After a brief and short
And "matter of fact" discussion,
Bearing in mind the kids' busy schedule
I wound down the window,
And decided the three bananas' fate.
The grown one just ran to the next car,
Grown you see,
The little one
Yelped in happiness
Of the fruits rejected by me.
Nothing could sound more beautiful
Than the kid's exclamation
"Bananas"
A giggle.
The red turned off.
The driver smiled
Yet every act was but a drop
I could not collect
To fill the desert of doom.
The heat hovered
And hovered,
The heat that turned
Back at my home
Many bananas black
Until they were discarded.
The flies feasted upon,
The gun is pointed
At the kids.
Sometimes blood leaves no stain.
Sometimes the black stains
On bananas are of our souls.
