A sunset is not a sunset
If it does not bleed
The word in me not a word
Till it is beaten in my wordsmith’s forge.
That is why your absence shapes me
Your silence sears my heart
With the barbed wire of pain
Till words of blood ooze,
Ooze from the open wounds of my poetry.
Do you see the homeless child
On the pavement?
His eyes say he has wandered about
In the dry playground
Fondling with hunger and stones.
They say his father paid the price for being a Kashmiri
They say his mother shares the five biscuits
Keeping only one for herself.
They say that justice comes late in some countries
If they come at all.
His eyes confirm his conversation with the sea
when it is most trapped by its lonely season.
That is the reason, my love,
a sunset is not a sunset
if it does not bleed.
That is the reason your absence shapes me
your silence sears my heart
with the barbed wire of pain
till words ooze out drops of blood.
That is the sole reason
Why my poems run red…
About the Author
Bob D'costa
Member Since: 20 Jan, 2014
Poet, author educationist, author of four books of poems, A Brutal Sunset, The Ten Commandments, Gods on Earth, Dark Roots writing on love, protest, social issues and quest into philosophy; Genres of novels are literary fiction, romance, mystery, par...
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