Monday, September 26, 2005
Two Women
Or write dirges in my name.
I need no epitaphs on my grave
I have stopped looking at rainbows.
Cloud formations go unnoticed
before my eyes.
All I see is the terror the sun brings
each morning when I have to wake up
to face another day.
Where shall I get food for my young?
How do I mend his tattered clothes?
What should I give him to protect his calloused feet
from the asphalt heat which he traverses
to beg for coins?
All I can do is cough blood,
massage my chest hoping I can go
to get my neighbor’s laundry for cash.
But how can I stand with nothing
but stale bread dipped in insipid coffee
on a lucky day?
Or write dirges in my name.
I need no epitaphs on my grave
Weep for me now
for I am dead
rolly
