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I.
This is,
For those
Whose dreams were kissed by the cobra
And now defies the incantations,
Of the medicine man
For those whose hopes sing dirges
As fresh roses are placed on,
Their blossoming tombs of the present
For those with stammering futures
Whose visions can't chant
Songs of victory
Because it has sore throat
For those
Whose mind have been crippled by turbulent storms
And now have to tread
By the aid of walking stick
For those whose palm wine of unity
That basked hopes to a realm of ecstasy
Has been diluted with the colorless urine
Of that vicious rat of subtle hate
For those whose love
Has swaggered amiss
Due to beats from the aged gong,
Of this wicked world
For those whose former
Was raped by subtle doctrines of the elders
And now its begat,
Are corpses of truncated promises
ll.
Listen Mortal,
You might have been paddling
Through the ne'er ending
Stream of gory pain
You might have been walking vainly
Through the evil forest
Of wanton horror
You might e'en have had your broth
Desecrated by feces of
Friendly flies
Never give up,
For the pestle might sweat while wobbling
But its hungry seared eyes
Will soon be dimmed
copyright 2016
Ajise
Vincent |
