(An excerpt from a poem that would probably never kiss the gates of earth)
The world we live in; a game of chess.
With Kings, knights and pawns
Fogs of war clouding the dead skies of Aleppo.
Burning rays permeating through the streets Of Gaza.
Famine and drought; the reality of kids worn out by war.
International organisations shrinking the soul of Africa.
Corporal mortification of finance, draining Third World countries.
IMF, and the UN, devils; dressed in white satin, adorning fake wings
Forgetful, they are. That the sun that rises in Vegas
is the same as the one that brightens the mountains of Jos
But surely! the day of reckoning waits patiently in ambush.
The world we live in; hunters and preys like a monarchical harem, filled with concubines in the 12th century…
On New Year’s Eve, Spectres, Seagulls and dead sonnets, watched in amazement as I wallowed in an ancient temple of grief.
An oasis of murkiness ripped through my feet, skull and everything in between.
while my soul danced to the tune of pain, as I reminisced a lady I once lived in—You
We were blisters of sin, sodomy, and everything forbidden
And like sand dunes, we collapsed under the pressure of our own weight
Today, we lay in different beds, still sinful, staining different sheets
with our once-beautiful memories, dead, like a mortuary of poems.
A mortuary of poems
I have been staring at the same spot for the past fourty minutes, wondering if all the burden we carry in our youth is really worth all the trouble. Many of us are depressed, some suicidal, stuck in between the echoes of who we really want to be, and who…