Where I come from…

I come from a place where good morning means nothing A place where respect is earned Not by Face value But by the lining in my pocket. I come from a place where Dabidabi 3b3y3 yie is the national anthem Sang for some 59 years and yet nothing seems to fathom All I hear is 3nd3 di3…

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What Happens At Dawn

What happens at dawn? Do you not wonder? When sleep shifts from 5th to 3rd. Ignore the 4th For forth comes the lazy 2nd. Till you land on the 1st – gear of sleep The 1st person to wake. Mama Akos. The sound and strength of her short broom against the hard concrete floor. Like…

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Eve’s Picasso.

Plastic girls in their plastic world Making men fume with their plastic chord Tis this fakery that binds them all Strangling and struggling In their plastic core Once upon a time, tis cliché When all but her innocence remained She found Picasso’s brush as it lay This – the beginning of a fuss and a…

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The Metallic Coffin – Inspired by W.B. Yeats’ “The Second Coming”

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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An Interview

I sat down close to her. Propped myself up. Did she notice it? I pushed up my glasses. I shifted a little in my chair. Did she notice it this time? “So Mr. Adam…” Oh no!! She is talking to me.  My lashes Pat too much. Ok don’t move your hands. Maybe she won’t notice.…

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Je suis Fatigue – Not poetry, An Explanation.

A propagation of the truth will leave the scholarly in vagueness As to why a damsel in her 21st century still feels distress See that? Yes I’m tired of writing proper English To explain to you damsels how life tingles I mean, I owe know thing nothing Yet, today I sit, turning in this widening…

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