Anggo Genorga

Edition IV

Break-even - By Anggo Genorga

Break-even

By anggo genorga

The English
woman on the
train stared
at me like I
was nothing.

She must’ve
thought I was
checking her
legs when I
looked at her.

Both of us
covered with
dark tinted
eyeglasses,
yet I can feel

her suspicions
from where
she sits; she’s
probably saying
”you’ll never

get a piece of
this shithead.”

Well, she’ll never
know this poem
about her either.


Edition V

Epiphany in Al Barsha - By Anggo Genorga  (photo by Myriam Nehmeh)Photo credit: Myriam Nehmeh 

Epiphany in Al Barsha

By anggo genorga

When I saw a long line grain of sand
on the street gently blown by the wind
and saw it
           as lines of snow white cocaine,

I knew then that I’m missing my home.

People just don’t notice
how messed up someone can be;
we mind our own business.

Sentimentality always comes uninvited
and it catches you with your pants down
most of the time.
I figured that out just now.

— I walked my way to a bug infested partition
whistling to can’t find my way home.


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