A Road Sign

A beat stops.
On the corner of the street a leaf mews of monsoon.
Of summer sunsets.
Of crumbling Eden.
Of lamenting lullabies
that people sang to wrap their children in infatuations.
Of worlds that don’t exist.


A beat stops.
Just for a moment.
To catch up.

I think of the cruelest thing I have ever watched unfold,
I hold that in my palm.
And know, no matter how much it gets preached,
that belongs to the world as much as the pretty butterflies.
Pretty road signs saying there’s a pretty place up ahead.
Pretty sunshades.
Pretty men with pretty teeth.
Pretty road signs saying life is beautiful.

I wonder if the road sign knows,
I wonder if the crooked road knows…
That when it slanted to reach the home of men,
a little girl, for the first time in her tiny little life,
watched the cruelest thing unfold.

A beat stops.
To catch up. 
Summer sunsets.
Crumbling Eden.
Lamenting lullabies.
Pretty road signs.
Leafs mewing of monsoons.

Infatuations, on other hand, took disguises of dreams.
And lurked beneath the eye-lashes .
Bruises soothed themselves
by the winds of the worlds that don’t exist.

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