The Odd One Out; the Individual.
The Sun sets every noon at twelve o’clock in June.
Square shell feathers chirping in their square straw nests,
Hung in the middle of a tree,
Whose grown in line like army rows, missing leaves.
Every nest must have two—four, six eggs at least.
If eggs are three, five, or seven, nine,
Mother must abide and commit filicide
Because divided by two should not equal to abomination.
Now kill the one that causes condemnation,
Disruption havocs just by one single aberration,
Birth bringer must undo; let its yolk ooze through,
and swallow the guilt that bleeds dry tears.
Let her feed this vitellus with briskness
to her ignorant offspring
to up-bring carriers of customs and traditions
with its upmost conviction
And enforce the rules of this unwritten doctrine
of this black and white world of Superego,
to have each generation
produce offspring of
Now a girl with black hair walks amongst other girls
With black hair.
Dressed in uniform of black and white,
attending a school painted with black and white,
and their morals,
black and white;
colors stay in its etched borders,
not daring to cross its forbidden lines.
She walks amongst them, walking in a straight line, with a straight face,
with pride that is worth the town for praise.
She’s known to paint,
to paint of portraits,
containing black or white lines
which never adjoin.
But, today she dares to walk to a path
an isolated path,
beaten from conformity,
to visit a he who’s stranger than Guernica.
He lacks of a foot and strides with another,
limping yet moving
forward to meet her,
adjoining paths yet again
to bring him of food, of clothing,
ointments, and medicine,
just to see that straight line,
etched to his face,
curve once more
with jovial similarity,
a feeling of connectedness
shared once more.
She walks back home,
with a curve on her face
Heads turn, Eyes glare,
But she held her head high up in the air,
Striding in zigzags,
a portrait in her hand,
Consisting of neither black or white,
She hung up that portrait for others to see
For her future kids
a color made and meant
to intersect the lines
of black and white;
In a path
Today is June, twelve o’clock at noon.
But, the sun broke away
today at twelve-O-one,
one of a boon.
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