Posts Tagged ‘Poetry’
Happy Women’s Day?
Posted by: lilliandcosta on: March 10, 2009
Happy Women’s Day?….. I beg your pardon
Its 8th March, International Women’s Day
But she doesn’t know it.
She wakes up at 6.00 a.m,
like she has for the last 12 years,
her mental clock and love for her family helps her up.
she fills the rice into the cooker, chops up the vegetables
in the yellow light of the bulb.
The chickens [...]
Disabled Femininity
Posted by: lilliandcosta on: February 13, 2007
disfigured bodies
forsaken womanhood,
yet our wombs cry,
tears of blood,
our bellies yearns to swell,
our breasts crave to feed,
our stumpy arms long to caress,
the flesh of our flesh, blood of our blood,
but our femininity is lost among the dark sludge of your morality.
We long for love, to give it,
to feel it grow within,
our mauled bodies refuses to [...]
Lillian @ Poetry
- Advertising Cloud 9The horizon in shades of green,Water tanks, blue and black,Clothes of all hues waving in the breeze.Cloud 9 advertising its services,Who would think, it would need to?But it does,Its the recession.
- Untitledoh why does my soul refuse to rest.it bounds up,against gravity,like there were thorns that pricked its underside.refusing it rest.oh my soul has a bloody breasta weary heartthat longs to rest,but somehow each night is dayin its unending search to run away.
- UntitledI stare out,As the orange-pink of sunsetFades away into silhouettes,Large dark trees, rise upAnd the cold road leads away.The breeze whips at my face,The curtains buffeted in the strong wind,Fly around uncontrollably like shreds,My heart feels the same,As it leaves sweet memories behind.Parting can never be harder.15th April 2009
- Happy Women’s Day?.......... I beg your pardonIts 8th March, International Women’s DayBut she doesn’t know it.She wakes up at 6.00 a.m,like she has for the last 12 years,her mental clock and love for her family helps her up.she fills the rice into the cooker, chops up the vegetables in the yellow light of the bulb.The chickens in their coop stir, at the first break of light.the brass pot rolls down on t […]
- Un-namedI want to writeBut wordsTremble within meThen die.I dig through my memoryFor experiencesFor verseBut all I find is gooey morass.I yearn to riseBe the bestBut the forceEludes meA phantom. There they areThe first buds of springOr is it a mirageThe sightings of a deluded soul8th February 2008
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