Thursday, June 23, 2011

Bullets, Balloons, Body.

A river on my left
Rail tracks on my right
Yet the aim of a gun is my only sight.

A weapon heavier than me
A lover stronger than thee
And colored balloons under a tree.

An eye settling for the perfect gun-eye injury
A weapon close to a heart which (ironically) has never known fury.

Blue, Green, Red, Yellow
Each color in a row.

My finger on the trigger
And a mind of vigour
Shot four of them dead
Yet not a tear was shed.

On undressing myself the same day
I saw the same colors of May
On my thighs, breasts and arm,
A reflection of his charm.

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