My faint white wardrobe
Opened with two scarlet handles,
The clothes are on the inside,
Cotton, some silk, housing legions of you.
I stand choosing, indecisive,
Combinations cluttering my mind;
Colours and kind blinding those eyes
That powder into black sand
And put space, that deep desert,
Between my right ear and my left.
My head emptied: death to life to death.
Meanwhile, yellow-striped moths
Crawl out your mouth and mine too,
Line after line, not a few; trillions.
They eat, feast on evening suit to the right
And darned brown cape on the left, even the least
They bring to inexistence, their evening dish.
To drape, I wish, on beggar's garb, I wish.
I'm stood staring at my
Empty wardrobe, no say left;
I am right naked,
Exposed to esposure
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Comments about this poem (Moth-eaten Mouths by Sandy Player )
- Lack of money does not mean lack of wisdom, MOHAMMAD SKATI
- On The T.V., Hannah Bryson Price
- Why do need wisdom anytime?, MOHAMMAD SKATI
- it is almost poetry, Mandolyn ...
- Wisdom's great aim, MOHAMMAD SKATI
- Our world is without any kind of wisdom, MOHAMMAD SKATI
- Dream packed drama, hasmukh amathalal
- A fool واحد احمق, MOHAMMAD SKATI
- Quite same, hasmukh amathalal
- Lack of wisdom, MOHAMMAD SKATI
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