SUICIDE, SYLVIA (2002)

I speak no word

Vainly try

In sounds of albino hues

Chequered cries

Green, red and green

Black, red and black

Blue, red and blue

Interspersed with love, hate and farewell thee sighs

And pain that lies

Within me, you and all

Forever

If I do speak

It’s in sounds of breaking wings

Unable to cope

With the perpetual flight

In chase

Of an amaranthine dope

Called hope

Which flying beneath the azure fence

In guileless pretense

Seeks always

The past tense

As if

The owner can see through the opaque wall

A silvery rope

To climb and reach that dope called hope

Sold for free in the golden mall

Whether clothed in moonlight, snowflakes or morning dew

I am always dipped

In a scarlet view.

But that doesn’t matter, does it?

After all

I did always finally belong to

The unwanted few

The unchosen few

A few

See,

I act no play

For the voyeurs

Just a dumb charade

A charade

That no one wants to see

Because it reminds them of their own inadequacy

And so few have ever penned stories, written poems, sung paeans to me

I don’t even get a grave

Save

A path in limbo

That embers pave