she brought hebenon to pour into my ears
she bought some chocolate too to
fill my dead ear furrows to grow some potatoes
don't call her a murderer, it's my fate

after she plucked my beautiful eyes she
said I didn't understand that she wanted
to see her youth and smile in them
don't call her a white witch, she
has no mirror

have you seen how God has pumped
the gray earth into a mountain over there?
that's what she told me, adding
how she wished He could pump
my miserly heart a bit into generous balloons
don't call her a Hitler, she's a divine blunder

she'll tattoo her name on my forehead as
my new sexy neighbor has just said
that she is a lucky woman
she has torn all 13s in our calendars too
don't call her jealous, it's all about love

she's so sorry if she'll be tearing my leg too for
she has lost her golf club; my precise gait
might finally help her
don't call her a murderer
where's her tee?
can't see it

Amit Parmessur Aged 28, Amit Parmessur hails from Mauritius. He has been published in literary magazines like Poetry Bulawayo, Amaranthine Muses, a handful of stones, Pond Ripples, Burnt Bridge, Calliope Nerve, Black-Listed Magazine, Damazine and LITSNACK and many more. He currently edits The Rainbow Rose at http://therainbowroseezine.blogspot.com/.