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.
