views

heterochromia

my father is a fortified man 
with dark, verdant eyes 
that shame the forest moss
that burn harsh and cold
seeing through deception 
honest, stern, but fair

my mother is a gentle woman
with soft, cerulean eyes 
that transcend the clearest sea
that glow bright and warm 
always saying the right thing 
tolerant, caring, but unwavering 

and I was born with that azure gaze 
though mine is not same 
on half my left eye
a drop of my father's jade 
and so I see the world 
as an even balance 
through both my parents eyes

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Morning View

Misty fog surrounds the trees

I wrap my shawl tighter around

Blocking the cold drafts surrounding me

I can see the men wrapped in shawls wearing lungees

Their heads wrapped in cotton scarves

Huddled closely around a fire nearby

 

Rickshaws pass by ringing their bells loudly

Dogs bark at street noises and a kitty wanders in

Under the gate

In the distance the wail of a train's horn and

Cars beeping as they go this way and that

Plowing through the streets

 To their destinations in various parts of the city

 

The clouds shifting back and forth

The mist of the fog melting away  to

A glimmer of the sun peaking through

Giving promise to a beautiful day ahead

Green, golden and beautiful

Breaks the dawn in Bangladesh

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Greetings to all from my corner of the world. 

Costume Forums and Political Science

Treats, and Trickster's ghoulish-ly 
entertaining the popular vote; 
immigration reform is on the ballot
once more, looking more like a 
menu dessert item, condiments 
cost extra.


Masks covered by masks,
Costume Forums, a masquerade 
masquerading day and night, dreams 
and nightmares. Knocking on my 
door with political propaganda as if 
my views were wrong for being 
different than theirs.


There is no US or THEM only YOU

and ME standing united, our fall

divided by a vote, which most live

and die for. The only vote that counts

is what the MAN says; voting is a

systematic approach to classify the

masses, labeled mindsets, puppets,

a trickster's treat.

Soulkritic® 2014©

Author's Notes/Comments: 

I don't vote!!

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My Own Eyes are Not Mine

Falling through the repeated days
In a set trance in the dark eternal craze

To a tired struggle I kill another dove
and forget what I made a promise to be free of

Because it's simply easy, and rather too fun
But when I gained another side, I lost sight of the sun

I feel not to go around and walk a set path that fits my shoes
Looking at myself, these are not my own hands, nor my own views


I'm trying to find a person who I can call me
To be familiar with and call my own what I can see

 

But in the end it all tears apart sooner or later
The person I thought I knew inside is my only traitor

 

I change another face to fit another set day
To think it matters, but it somehow never did anyway

 

Everything can change from a single teardrop from the eye
But then again, who am I?

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