Friday, April 15, 2011

The flames and the flamingos

Hovering on the blue moon tonight
Is the red flamingo from my past?
I'm trying so hard to tell myself
The flamingo is gone, gone with the dusk....
Fire red flamingos fill the sky with screams
Burnt out ashes of sepia winters and scarlet dreams....

All flamingos have a story; all stories a story teller
The story teller whispers; the whispers cast shadows
Shadows are smokes; smoked post act
Giggles and gnaws are ingredients of the tact....
One flamingo is trapped at the bottom of the void
I am sleepless again I am again paranoid....

Flutters my curtain, flutters the blue moon
And in the hole on my blanket a flamingo flutters
This flamingo is black, its wings are heavy
Its panting for air, it’s never ever ready....
I stare at the ceiling, the ceiling full of soot
The black flamingo sings, sings of the root....

I think of the roots, ponder how they spread
Like songs of the black one, staining my mid night bread
The bread seems stale, stale like the ruffian
Who promised me letters but never wrote one....
I also have a bouquet of letters, which are all unsent
I still do remember for which flamingo they were meant....

The letters are now perched on the roof, on the lampshade
I have lived with the memory of a flamingo fire red
How long is the river? How far is the sky?
What are thoughts made of? .... I guess I am high....
The black flamingo song is been hummed in a loop
It’s just another conspiracy of the flamingo group

Much before I walked the roads, that lead me to the sky
I stepped on a forbidden cloud and I forgot to try
I forgot all the trials, all the error terror story
Another flamingo from the past narrated another long ago glory....
Flamingo songs and flamingo stories are all that is left
My heart and the blue moon would never be flamingo bereft....

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