charades
tears bleeding from bonedry eyes,
souls crucified across bloodred skies,
walking and a-talking,
seeing this, that,
wearing soles out,
following the bout,
of wracked nerves,
skewered on stakes,
regurgitated, restrung,
ready to be,
once more,
wrung,
left out to bleed,
as long as the crowd applauds,
the insatiable beast,
needing new feed.
this migrant skin.
tin-cans, discarded cartons,
garbage bins,
littered with fragmented shards of myself,
shed, left behind,
amidst by-lanes,
pieces of who i was,
slivers of me,
ever trying to belong,
to be,
so we moult,
social chameleons,
slimy, deceitful,
charming, soulless,
casual, empty emotions,
flung aside here,
bits of that life,
of this,
leaving laughter, pouring tears, down drains hugging boulevards,
strewn with crushed petals.
this migrant skin,
this malleable face,
numberless incomprehensible masks staring back,
a mishmash mosaic,
shadows of yesteryears faces,
worn and torn,
ever straining to flee,
the restlessness growing,
gnawing,
teetering on tightrope,
as year turns to close,
I’ll see if I can find me.
( inspired by Erich Fried’s “In Hiding” )
Scribbled Verse 