Light shatters the glass stained
pieces sepulchral in peace whited
Doves bear not the span of eagle
Nor the peacock's proud display
Of Life in all its glorious affray,
The mosaic lies in the dust
Too dazzling to the unseeing eye
Blood lines like ink rusted
like the converted coloured
are the panes by the paint of pain
like memories bruising the temples
cold sweat on the brow
----
dedicated to the memory of those tortured and murdered in Goa by the Portugese Inquisition
YOU ARE READING
𝓟oems 𝓟rismatic
Poetry''sketches that shape-shift the angle and the curve'' (line from the poem 'Contrast) Recent/new poems tend to be at the beginning of the book.
