Tag Archives: Sweat

The Silence

The silence is
Malignantly comfortable,
As each sand grain
Takes its place
As the wind whips
Against my face
And makes my heart
Take a somersault…

Simple acceptance
Has its own way
Of hurting the center
Of your existence.

I didn’t know that
Until you were made to
Pass by without a glance
That you ached to
Throw my way…

Little beads of moments,
Little pearls of tears,
Little dews of sweat
And tiny specks of fears,
Donned with uncertainty –
All have frozen to form
The petals that remain
Of the drowning rose.

Swirls of smoky fog
Veil those eyes that once
Failed to look away from you ~
Not because they can’t
Condense and liquify the pains,
But because they refuse to,
Just so the malignantly comfortable
Silence continues…

~November 27th, 2012
~ sana rose~

The Blue – Eyed Boy’s Mother

The little boy sleepily stumbled
Into the constricted room,
“Mama,” he sobbed, puzzled,
And she gathered him in her arms…
She rocked him gently to sleep
Until his blue eyes closed…
She chanted a little prayer to keep
Her little boy safe and gently
Wished him a lovely dream
That he could see,
Unlike the darkness he saw
When he was wide awake…


Placing her little boy on the bed
She hurried to her job…
She slipped into the black robe
And wrapped the black scarf
Around her beautiful hair…
She lowered the veil down her face
That she hoped would separate
Reality from the nightmare…
She stepped out to the night
As dark as her cheap robe,
Hailed a dilapidated cab
And headed to the city…


The music that the bar chose
Was not of great taste,
But the men still gathered around
The stage where she danced
Out of spite, in the blue dress
That glittered seductively,
Unlike her blue eyes that were dead…
Intoxicated by the drinks, they broke
Glasses when they applauded…
Intoxicated by her numb blue eyes
And milky, silky skin that glowed,
The ravenous men cooed…


Her feet ached and head throbbed,
The sweat-drenched chiffon clung
To her subconsciously dancing body,
Intent stares burnt blisters
On her skin and in her conscience…
Past midnight, in the early hours,
She shed down the skin of sin,
Slipped back into her black robe
And pulled down the veil once more…
Grabbing the stinking notes held out,
She disappeared into the darkness again
To get back home, to her little boy…


The little blue eyes fluttered open,
Glassy they were, staring past her…
The absence of light in them
Tore at her heart as she watched
Her little boy drink his milk…
She counted the notes that stank
And put them back in the rusting box…
She sighed and the tiny brows
Above the blue eyes rose
At the slightest sound from his mother…
“Mama, are you all right?”
The innocent lips worried…


There were many more nights
Of burning stares, stinking wine sweats,
And intent, lust-filled words…
Many more nights of aching feet,
Throbbing head, sweat-drenched chiffon
Clinging to her tiring body…
Many more blisters to form
In her conscience divided
Between honor and sinning
To buy sight from the surgeon
For her little boy’s blue eyes…
There were many more nights…

(From my second collection ‘The Room of Mirrors : Reflections in Words’)