Wednesday, 24 August 2016

Hell

By Marcia R. Pinheiro



The devil himself woke her up
His lips were dry; full of dust


Devil whispered her name from inside
Hell was in her


Day and night she walked oppressed;
Sad, lonely, hurt


She faded away like a burnt match
Everyone saw, nobody thought I must


The religious passed far;
All that discourse; just crust


The cops took the scoff
But it was definitely crime


It is rough, violation of human rights
Poor woman: No time to shine.






Home


By Marcia R. Pinheiro

When you are little
Things sometimes come by means of absorption
Sense of home comes from mother
Mother knows what home is
Home is whatever mother says

When you grow up a little
Home becomes your bedroom
They usually let you have it just for you
That is where you are
Whatever your soul dictates

You are a woman
Now it is going to be rude
Because home is the sex of your man
And what feels good is the nude

You are old
Time has passed
With luck you walked instead of being dragged
Home is now your mind
If they think you live, they must see inside