I would let it drip
seep like smoke
a cloud of dreams
in pink, in blue, my favorite-
I will not share it.
Maybe with her,
when she is back home
with apron on-
Did I say a cloud?
I meant cotton candy
sticking on my fingers,
my nose.
But I am not.
I am already 10.
Tag: war
The American Dream
When the Americans do it,
it is complete.
The work of artisans,
the touch of a master.
It hits you like an explosion of flavours,
unexpected:
spicy, never
sweet,
sour.
You learn to appreciate the American
craftsmanship,
with its colours
marinating
the dome of your life.
You learn to see its greatness,
hammered
on your
walls.
When the Americans do it
they do it right.
Nothing,
nothing escapes
their might.
From the past
to your neighbour’s alley,
all get marinated
by the colours,
of the sun’s
fairies:
doom.
