And suddenly, amidst familiarly unfamiliar tongues/a brown boy finds himself a world and a half apart from all he's known.
Assimilate with ease/ ascend through the ranks as accolades shower down like a soft rain/but only until apprehension arises/ that he’s soaring too high, and they recall with a jolt/his foreignness.
Let the chatter of the streets, the whispers of the markets, and the echoes of the foreign policy pass him through like white noise/ Now that he’s made sure he can be seen/ there is but one universal law/ that he must know/ he must fear/the one of gravity/for he remains susceptible to being shot down.
About the Creator
Mesh Toraskar
A wannabe storyteller from London. Sometimes words spill out of me and the only way to mop the spillage is to write them down.
"If you arrive here, remember, it wasn't you - it was me, in my longing, who found you."
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His Haibun
He does not like poetry; I write it anyway and do not tell him. It's true his face is not a poet's face. It is round and open, youthful; too apt to be compared to the sun. His nose is neat. It is impossible to imagine him smoking a cigarette, terse, full of cheekbones and tension. His warmth burns my fingertips. I am here for his fascinating body, the haphazard freckles I touch one by one; he is here for my eyes, just my eyes. A sunbeam sneaks through the curtains and pierces us both, sizzling the spices of his skin. I inhale and wrap myself in him. He kisses my eyes.
By TheSpinstress6 days ago in Poets
Comments (1)
Anything starting with "and" I know will be good. And this didn't disappoint! Though I haven't experienced what you describe here, I really felt everything you poured in the words. Beautifully written.