Torn Angel Wings

Torn Angel Wings
© Surazeus
2016 04 13

Zina sips coffee at glass cafe table
and peers through black hair at gleam of sunlight.
"Though you can see my body and my face
you cannot perceive sunbeams of my soul."

Brian sketches her face on blank white page
in black notebook and ignores flash of cars.
"When I sketch mask of your delicate face,
I decode geometry of your soul."

Zina shades her black eyes with slender hands.
"Lines you draw that seem to reflect my face
are nothing more than bars on cage you make,
but my soul flutters swift as birds on wind."

Brian slides sharp pencil point slow to trace
contours of her sharp chin and almond eyes.
"I trace your flight among clouds of desire
to map high winds of freedom you design."

Zina watches young man at nearby table
who wears thick blue coat in warm evening breeze.
"I see red roses bloom from singing minds
but we cannot fly with torn angel wings."

Brian leaps toward Hamid who presses button
but vanishes in blinding flash of light.
"I know there is no supernatural god,
though fragments of my bones glitter rainbows."

Zina flies back against shattering blue sky
and lies bleeding on vast gray plain of silence.
"I touch blank face of my mother, and feel
my blood pulse in every river of Earth."

Sergeant Francois weeps for dead Chinese girl
dressed in slim scarlet skirt and black lace blouse.
"Her name was Zina Zhang, born in Shanghai,
who studied painting at Paris-Sorbonne."

Francois carves statue of young Chinese girl
from white marble sliced from Carrara hills.
"My heart weeps with sorrow that you are lost,
but your spirit lives in each laughing child."

Liu Mei skips laughing around white statue,
flapping angel wings strapped over pink gown.
"Who is that goddess frozen in white marble?
Why is she reaching toward sky where birds fly?"