house into poetry
House…1
Four walls lift it on their shoulder.
Sounds of rain dropping on it was the music
My childhood likes most.
A kite is dangling from its corner.
Roof looks at its brilliant colors.
I know that it would like to have a flight with it.
House…2
Run through the corridor and stumble.
The dark red of bruise,
Mother has gone to market
And you will not tell father.
Is it true that rebuke is painful
Even more than a bruise?
By poddarku
© 2008 poddarku
(All rights reserved)
| |