Slaves

I found the slaves.
Chained to the bath house door.
Their fingers reaching
out to me.
What truth are you hiding?
Answers hide in
tiny hearts.

Then unfolds the icey silence,
revealing such fragile things
of the lowest status.
I knew the original story.
Rewound, it started over.
Images more real
than yesterday.

Hush and say:
"'My dying breath,
be as a kiss."

Reviews

[Wasekera S Chiphazi Ban..]

such an amazing poem. Each line so captivating...

[KLMazon]

This is hauntingly beautifully written.