Incredible Rainbow...
Once we were travelling
across the darkness
of the cross country
no lights but lightening
ever so frightening
perhaps wanted to ask
will you catch and bury

flint stone sparks a fire
alabaster form sculptures
I check my wish list -

hens lay eggs
who await their fate
some get turned to omelettes
others hatch into chicks
either ending up in kitchenettes
or get dressed up then marinate
to queue up to barbecue
or may be end up in a stew
else as lollipops to chew

some masters like their breasts
others love their legs
tender flesh
to feast upon

no one did read their poems
none heard their voice
sadly in their world
there are no human rights

There have been times
we have pushed
we have pulled
and we have braced against
whatever was coming next.

There are days
when you can be thermonuclear.
I've been a hydrogen bomb myself,
a time or two.

And I can't erase you out of my head
I can't patch the hole you left in me.

And certainly, well meaning people
tell me that all healing takes time.
But I don't want the cold numbness
these charlatans call "healing."

The sun does not have
Many faces
It sees all
And never turns away

The moon, however,
Is more like me:

Sometimes I feel
Like only a sliver

Sometimes I am growing
Steadily
Like a coffee cup, filling

Sometimes I try to
Silently disappear,
Run away

Though a part of me
Still gets caught
In light:
A part

Sometimes I am full
Like the sun

But only for a couple of days

They parade their wares
supposedly to showcase fashion
while hawk eyes strip them
with wildest imagination
some of those cats walking the ramp
make it to celebrity pads
would it be the same
if they were mannequins

the so called "in high places"
cannot make it to the brothels
high places become fish markets
to pick and choose
to see who gets hooked
those who do once done with
sport "Me Too" tags
to grab attention
and make green backs

Black and dark
Mind often obscured
Historically backward
Holistically awkward

All hopes are seen dashed
New garments get stained
Deceptions ring in our ears daily
Political mentors get masked

Adversities intersects us
The race becomes farther
Generations come and go
Condition remains the same

Who will lead us out?
How did we get jammed?
Where have we gone wrong?
Why are we here?

Does the bug
crawling about
the man’s shoes
have the mind
or experience
to classify them
as potentially dangerous?

Perhaps if the man
steps on the bug
it will be reincarnated
as a butterfly.
They seem to keep
their distance,
flit away
but sometimes alight
upon a man’s shoulder
or hat.

And then perhaps
after a life of flight,
Flitting away
and landing on hats,
lay down it’s winged body
in the dust,

What is a poem, is it heart and soul
baring a hidden muse
or an inner voice, in search of a vent
to let out the building fumes

Does it have legs, to explore and trek
inviting peaks of the mountains
or stride the terrain, of rivers and streams
to find if they do ever meet

Does a poem have eyes, to paint on a canvas
what is beyond the unseen
or a vision of the blind, of feel and touch
to make sense of dotted lines