MARIETA MAGLAS

MARIETA MAGLAS

SEPARATION

There was no more scream to heat the air,

had to be slipped through the door of nevermore

nor through the time of life. Scary

like an insane clown in the crowd, the moon

turned into a terrifying face. Some more longtime pain

could change into an overgrown claw to crush

the house of love.

A lot of words were full of unfulfilled longing. Bursts

were the truths thundering through

the thinking mind; not thinking, but stressed.

There was no second chance, much less there was a hope.

ONE FOR MY BABY

His single-mindedness has been gone.

Became contradictory. Relinquished

to fight with his chimera. Now, he denudes,

takes off his self. His lulls have to give shape

to his own abyss, as well as to open the portal

of enlightenment, he does not have without

identifying the image of his emptiness.

All his convictions are to be cut off.

In the casino, the piano swallows all

the heavy notes, while dropping them

one by one into an imperceptible mouth

until the culmination. A quarter is lost.

She is forgotten. She is no more his mirror.

Her age is wrapped in wistfulness. His robotic

carrion needs life for raising the balance

of his moneys- nickel rocking rocks to alter the destiny.

The entire life, he has been a poetic dreamer

locked inside his oppressive subconscious.

THE WHITE CITY

A dense fog disintegrates all the hopes.

Disoriented people dreaming of nonexistent

worlds roam on the terminal's sidewalk.

The lights turn on and off erratically.There are

hidden screams in the night covered by

the heavy rain's sounds that drizzle outside

the oval-shaped, wet windows.The blues

of the stars trickle out of their core. The victims

don't understand that they are victims yet.

There are fast food kiosks and botanical gardens

with beautiful exotic trees. There are horror movies.

There are steps searching each other. The blues

are absorbed by a rising dreariness.The rain

vibrates the windows, the burial stones, and

the dreams. Suffering words meld in the white

mist of the night.Maybe it is only an echo.

Maybe it is not.

Maybe no one can stop

the racist slaughter of innocents.

MARIETA MAGLAS