Hibiscus

Stupid thing with fishbones for a head.
Have you not heard the priest say this before?
Have you not heard them preach to you?
Have you not been defiled sadly enough?

You have most often been seen with fireworks,
in your shoes.
You have often had a rough throat
from all that crying.
You have often danced with your walls,
afraid of freedom.

Now, how can you sit here?
In this land of skies,
and white moons.
And pray to be loved by hearts that are not yours?
Your priest is fed up of you

He says you must be sent to the asylum,
He says that God cannot cure you.
Only death can

Sit with me and I will tell you a story-
Of children who flew at night,
with hibiscus in their hair.
They spoke of a well,
near the side-walk of a cliff-road.
Where hang holy people,
by their collars.

Sit under those collars, and drink from the well.
And you will forever be at peace.

The well had been poisoned,
long ago.



Baby.