Poems By Berlind Ágústsdóttir

The PoemS

My tall skinny cherub
your mysterious - shy glance
tickles me everywhere
I hide my tiny fingers in your paws
and share with you the secret
of my eyes


The little girl in the living room,
who sits over there in the plaid sofa with the brown armrests,
and dangling her toes and stirring with them in the carpet is not me.
I don't know this little girl,
but I know how she thinks.
I see the pictures she creates in her head
and in her color changing eyes,
I can see she has beautiful eyes.
She stares the pictures onto the wall,
but no one sees them.
I see pictures, pictures of pretty colors,
pretty things,
and ever laughing, ever hugging children
trampling on the sins of the fathers,
and grandmothers, soft grandmothers,
with ice cream and pancakes filled with cream
and everything is so much fun and everything is so much fun,
until a huge hand strikes the eyes
and the pictures fill with blood.

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