As branches bends for desert winds, close
to breaking, and the weight of what I’ve said
is slightly less than my mute retort inside.
They send me feathers white of cowardice, but
yet I hesitate, behind my cock-sure mask,
because lukewarm water cannot scorch my skin.
I seek the colors in what’s grey, as prisms
can rainbow-bend, “You have to choose!!”
they said “you’re either with us or against us”,
as yet again the branches bend for ricochets,
with cobblestones now wet, our grey-zones stained,
but yet, I hesitate and cannot cry revenge.
I link a second poem to Claudia’s prompt on emotions at dVerse, and this requires a little explanation. I’m proud to be ambiguous, which is actually a strong emotion. The terrorist attacks and the responses make me sick inside, and even if I was adorned with white feathers of cowardice (which was a symbol given by women to men without uniform in the first world war) I hope I could keep my ambiguous mind intact.
November 24, 2015