I look down at the milling crowd
I see you, that tiny black dot
Standing six feet above ground
Yet, several feet below me.
As you will always be.
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Tag Archives: My verse
What will become of you?
She said, don’t miss me so much…
It breaks my heart to think
What will become of you
When we are no longer
Together…
Tonight
Let me remember how to live
Before the end of tonight
Let me be what I can never be
In a crowd
Let me see new, hear new and feel new
My home, the silence and the peace
Let my heart stay young
And beat its most
Tonight I shall want to make discoveries
Tonight I shall want to take memories
Tonight I shall want to
Tell myself, “I love you…”
Past, the prostitute
Her breath smelling of trouble
She worded words of allure
Timed to fall in step beside you
And your mind in probe.
Lashes dainty in invite,
Her eyes widen
With the promise of secrets.
Selling her ware she jeers,
“Just venture…you won’t regret”
And regret you do
when you made trouble
Not love.
You the Present ought not
To have copulated
With Past, the prostitute.
Dead Death Died
Death is a busy affair.
Tears wiped away in haste,
Last respects to the feet
Rites and tradition dictate
How the unseen soul shall
Pass over.
Uncomfortable, unnecessary, understanding
Shall rain over head. Shall not mean anything
But a silent prayer to put
Death a little away.
A tumour grows today,
In the place where you grew…
There will be more blood,
Than which I fed you…
Will your hands,
Fully formed today
Wipe the stain away?
No, you sentenced me to be carried away
Through the gutter’s length
In the backyard of my daughter’s house.
You stole from me, my right to leave
In a palanquin, through the front door,
Of your house, my wretched Son!
You are the tumour that,
I bred with so much pride.
You were my Son.
And I am your Mother.
Within Sight; Out of Mind.
There were two things,
A window, and a small mirror.
Through the window came,
Your face and voice
Far and distant.
As distant as the look,
My face in the mirror wore.
