A poem is but a skeleton
waiting
for mind
and
imagination
to fill the open

spaces

between the ribs

mind
and
imagination
to flesh it out

mind
and
imagination
to make it whole

for one,
full
and
sated,
it may dance
and
delight
in abundance

while another sees
embers
glowing
through
the spaces
warm
and
peaceful
yet
still
mysterious

for another
more questions
than
answers
are created
leading
down
a deep
path
of wandering
of wondering

seeking
the meaning
the light

through

the spaces
between
the bones

2 drops of tear

Travel down her side eye

Flowing consecutively on a loop

Yet falling into oblivion

Breaking free from her once ethereal sockets

As the icy sideline waves ravage her mind

Consuming every evidence of hope she once embodied

Trapped she is beneath layers of ice

Ice so thick to break through

Yet clear enough so you know she is there.



2 drops of tear

(O once upon a time they were)

Fall not from his side eye

Deposit instead in the reservoir of him

Quietly wearing away the gypsum norms on which he stands

Like the Mosul Dam o he knows

Still his paintbrush daily he holds

Laminating his façade in fifty shades of hegemony blue.


©Belema.S.Ekine