AT 4 P.M.

Delicate she was, with newborn in hands,

So thin she was, bit more than pencils,

So light that a small breeze can make her dance,

She was safe here

(or as I thought)

 

In the clutches of mine, at private room,

She was an angel, more than a lover of mine was,

She had glued in dark green feathers,

With long curly hairs hanging besides,

Brown in tone, she looked so good,

There my angel with elegant looks,

 

She lived with me here,

I wished happily forever, came and

Added to joy our newborn as gift,

4 P.M. was our finest time,

When our baby born and smiles twinkled,

Days passed then, with tones of age,

 

One day I saw, bits of her clothes,

Chewed and spit on the shiny floor,

I saw her thrown at the nook of room,

Where wastes gathered to be dumped soon,

She was dead and pointed left,

 

When I searched her eyes that showed me some,

I felt my tears as rolling down,

I saw our baby safe at left,

Inside my books which I love the most,

Rested there my pink tissue

with softest furs seen in world,

what shall I do with this new baby

which she left me as souvenir gift?

 

Came then inside the dark sweeper,

Seeing me beside the numb baby,

Shouted she as if a mike was held

Besides her mouth with pan smelled tongue,

 

“By mistake garden pot fall from the table,

Sorry will bring you new one tomorrow”

 

She said the fate within a tingle of second

This scrambled my heart with bloody sword,

My heart fall down at the soil below

You cannot buy a new heart for me,

Then why should you give me a lifeless pot,

 

I asked in silence,

However, my heart wept in violence,

That she was unjustified,

Badly forever that the

Poison still stinks…

***