Martyr
Lovely little martyr
I see no blood upon
The hands.
Nor plaster of Paris.
Or paint.
Not even crayon.
Yet, clips of language
Still caught up in
The mind.
Where from these fingers
Of tongue and
Fishing hook--
Words of the overheard.
And phrases so dramatic.
"The end is coming."
"The end is coming!"
"The end.it's coming!"
Awe, go on.
Copyright Kemal Faruquee 1991