Taliban Light

You? Here?
O Taliban light, my friend,
C’mon, let’s listen to the latest news over a cup:
You know, fights and heavenly vaults
Left blazing marks on my soul,
A wild lash given in good faith, sure,
Thank God floods never set us ablaze,
So don’t be afraid of waves who fast, dream,
And smell like stale limbs,
Just hold fast to your sight,
To the slick stares of starving beggars,
The eyes of caregivers faintly smiling to old ginks —
Yes, I know you’d love to be a skinny bimbo
All caught up smooching with her bf or shooting selfies,
Our precious relics for eternity,
But what rotten luck, you keep stumbling
On teens in a wheelchair just round the corner —
Getting a blast out of it, are you, Nature?
Or is it you, God, getting a kick out of your hide-and-seek?
But be careful now, watch out as the light is yawning
While silent limbs are rousing,
And words storm pages like wild branches after a storm —
My hands, yes, my stained hands, yellow for fags, green for hope,
All the better, I’ll creep into the rooms,
I’ll see my parents darn busy at it,
Tear letters open, drawers on the sly
Before dying on the scaffold,
My feet in the blood, my eyes hurled to the sky,
All my men dressed in white,
Prophets of demise or cheerful Sunday bikers?
Bit of advice, my friend, sheer your eyes
From the streets, the wynds, the lanes,
Don’t lend them to teens fooling around,
Let those fool passersby cheer so loud —
My Blue, I’m coming home, to my waves
Where verbs give me the devil’s look
And adverbs keep grinding knives —
Anyone for light and back?
My dear soul, sure you were born a cripple,
But please, just for once, just for a change,
Stop hiding behind my dead children’s souls,
You fool, see what you’ve done?
O Taliban light, my friend, and you,
Mothers who paid so hard getting preggo with light,
What I long for is a blue lake,
What I long for are swims and dives,
And what I’ve got is a lair where streets starve me
Or, when in a goody-goody mood
Feed me on beggars, cripple, and the obsessive sounds
Of some forests raiders cleared like mad —
By the way, beloved, do we take angels for granted?
Don’t ask why to the soul who stares at her bruises,
Some reddish, some bluish, so what?
Just smile and bear, or I’ll silence the lights:
Know what? I thought I had wolfed down my wounds
As if they were sweet pancakes,
But, ‘don’t let yourself go’
My servant said before leaving me behind the dark abuse
Of my nights, while my soul was running as ever
Down along her fading strength, her lost blue waves —
Well, who knows? Maybe it’s high time to go —
Now.