They call me illegal
unwanted in the eye
blue as the sky
but only seeing my colour
...
When I speak of history I speak well;
I leave behind the past where broken bones
Lay scattered on blistering sands to tell
Of atrocities that are mostly groans.
...
She creeps around my room
lulling any sound whispering
in the creak of my chair
or the opening of a cabinet
...
As tears fall
upon dehydrated cheeks
making their own free rivulets
without interference
...
This cool morning breeze
keeps my heart beating with joy:
...