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Poetry: High-street traffic and expensive trash

Five words or a sentence for short

Sea salt, dirty clothes and a kettle

Tea boiling over the brim of a pot

Residues stuck to the bottom

Cars, passersby and street lights remain

 

High ceilings, lush carpets and brightly lit

There stands a mansion focally hit

Clicking heels heard every now and then

A lone child stands in the balcony

Few rain drops fall on a clear day

 

Shouts, wails, cries and guns

As panic strikes, a girl losing her shoe

Father letting go of daughter’s hand

A blast is heard, a shoe is found

A man gets a glimpse of his blood

 

Empty parking and deserted interior

Abandoned book resides in a thick cloth

A lone mike rests affront the carpets

A lone voice trembles inside, outside is

“Come towards prayer

Come towards victory”

 

Flash lights blinking, fairy lights dancing

Spot lights find the colorful audience

A crowd of thousands, the host is one

A melody booms out of the speakers

As more people pay, barricades are extended

 

Sticky floor, stale caffeine and dirty bars

Mental calamities exceeding boundaries

Electric shocks and hysterical laughs

A hand on the burner, reminiscing lies

There lays a body immune to pain

 

A dark room, an empty alley

A mosaic of words yet to be uttered

Tied wrists, gagged mouth and numb eyes

A future shattered, a desire satisfied

Footsteps turn from loud to faint

 

Seven cigars, aligned in a row

A mother clipped to darkness

A stack of cards, some bottles, some dope

The youngest son lets out

A perfect ring

 

A cold lacerated wrist soaking up

The morning sunshine

The faint smell of dried blood

Tea boiling over the brim of a pot

Cars, passersby and street lights remain

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