Turning and turning in the shaking trotro The mate cannot hear the passengers Coins fall apart; the polythene bag cannot hold; Mere anarchy is loosed upon the driver. The blood-stained abuse is loosed, and everywhere The innocence of the driver’s mother is drowned; The insults lack conviction, while the worst of the passengers Are full…
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MADNESS – Not Poetry; A Narrative.
She sits by the roadside – a mixture of calm and confusion. Madness becomes her. On her rock she sits, crossed- legged. Her clothes, a myriad of silhouettes. The light plays a number on her. A revelation here, skin there. Exposed? Yes! Barely? Yes! She sits on her rock smoking her cigarette – a mixture…
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