old
in stranded stars and moonless nights
during bloody wars and meaningless fights
and the whisper of the wind in my ears
reminds me that
I am still
alive.
Raising expectations for a better home
while my homeland is a charred battleground
all my hopes and dreams and beautiful thoughts alone
contribute to the greatness of the lingering sound
of my tears hitting the ground
reminding me that
My white skin cannot save me from sorrow.
Writing down the story of my homeland
with the glory and the story and the luxurious glimpses of blood
they hold some knives, they take your life
and your wounds, your wounds are their prophets
reminding them that
they are going to win
as your veins' blood is spilling
all over the abandoned land.
Poetry by Eva
Read 1345 times
Written on 2013-01-09 at 13:15
Tags War Life Immigration
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The blood-stained hands
Travelling far and widein stranded stars and moonless nights
during bloody wars and meaningless fights
and the whisper of the wind in my ears
reminds me that
I am still
alive.
Raising expectations for a better home
while my homeland is a charred battleground
all my hopes and dreams and beautiful thoughts alone
contribute to the greatness of the lingering sound
of my tears hitting the ground
reminding me that
My white skin cannot save me from sorrow.
Writing down the story of my homeland
with the glory and the story and the luxurious glimpses of blood
they hold some knives, they take your life
and your wounds, your wounds are their prophets
reminding them that
they are going to win
as your veins' blood is spilling
all over the abandoned land.
Poetry by Eva
Read 1345 times
Written on 2013-01-09 at 13:15
Tags War Life Immigration
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text
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Harikrishnan G Nair |
| Texts |
 by Eva Latest textsTo Let GoSoftness Particle The ghosts Summer in the city |
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