Red Song of Ghosts

Untitled (ochre ovals) by Christopher Willard visual artist and author. Public Domain

(If I knew we will end, would I have begun, would I have begun?)

Spirits of my shadows, I can read your lips
I know the lyrics of that song, how it comes, how it floats
My mother, she was never the one to fall, she was the rose, she was the rose

Ochre monologues have stained our souls, I can trace the lines
I know the painter so well, how he cries, how he draws
It hurts you know, when a smile breaks raw skin. Hurts when the teeth
show, when the oval teeth show

We have flown beyond the universe of life, this is the song of us ghosts
This is the stain of us ghosts. Speaking through curtains blocking humanity
Our mothers are rolling down the floor, they know we are here,
they can hear us, they can hear us

I used to carry a face, so fierce, so alert. My blue hair, my blue skin
I used to have feet that felt the ground. So wet, so unreliable
Here, in the sky of lost trails, I am allowed to sink, I am allowed to soar
My mother dances in her kitchen, she makes her best cake
she eats alone, she eats alone

Spirits of my shadows, your lips have now fallen
The lyrics are broken as stars in my sky, They twinkle and stand
They stand and twinkle. And my mother would come here, to hug and kiss
when she knows roses are folded packages of misery, waiting to be unfurled
waiting to be unfurled


Drifter; Poet. ‘The Saree Shop’ is my debut poetry collection.

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