One Morning in Ngabean
: for Cing-Cing
she woke to a giant banner
proudly erected
in front of her house
words of hatred
anger spat
in her face
unnatural abomination
should return to hell
she read, she cried
under her heavy blanket
she buried herself
in a foetal position
hugging her Dutch wife
she couldn’t breathe
why am I still here?
*
sitting alone
at her breakfast table
omelette waiting
in the pantry
eggs were beaten
shells were broken
they were still
on the table, messy
a pan black burnt
next to her cup of tea
salt gone
her tears tasted the same
why on earth
am I still here?
*
curtains closed
tight, only a little beam
came into the cloth fort
she lingered
TV blaring, newscasts
from all over the country
same stuff as yesterday
or last week
the same hatred for her kind
her cellphone rang, soft vibration
a picture of her sprung up
of her kissing a girl
a melodious ringtone
soft guitar plucked
she smiled
Sad, soft, strong. Love this.
ReplyDeleteSo good.
ReplyDeletethat has a lovely use of the passing of moments
ReplyDelete