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NO EBB JUST FLOWS

More wetness on paper
No ebb just flows
Not chirps either but a roar
A whole lot of it!
Causing spines to wreck
And making hearts to yelp!

Wielding a pen that is blood-filled
With a bit of water and a bit of black
Incessantly running, flows and no ebb
Like it’s destiny and I in a cold embrace

The spectators all seated
Giving meaning to every drop
Booing some and applauding some
Holding back tears that want to freely flow

The pen with its owner pulsating
In beats by bits
No ebb just flows

Blood rush, weird high and a pacing heart
Is often the outcome of this one
Unlike the expectant calmness of receding breeze
It’s the tidal rush from the ink, the pen and its left-handed wielder.

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APOLOGETIC SORRIES


I am sorry,
For the truth, I kept at bay
And the lies I freely did say

I’m sorry,
Now for the tricks, I did as fun
And enemies I laughed to scorn

I am sorry,
For the filth, my eyes did see
And my innocence severed away from me

Am sorry,
For the ego, my heart carried thru’
And the errors, my hands commits too

I am sorry,
For the carnalities, my self held-up
And the drunkenness, that I did pop

I am sorry,
For the times and seasons, I never said sorry
And tears caused, that made your eyes go blurry

I am sorry,
Even for the silence, in epoch of nothingness
And words that flowed nonetheless

To those that care to yield
To fellow friends indeed
To them that are hurt I plead
And to the Sovereign I still creed.

Adversity in Diversity

Same phonemes; same language

Same culture; same living

All in one, one in all

Having the same desire, same dream and same destination-

The Heavens.
As if lost in the fondue

A cancerous feat started pillaging their weakness

His brother spoke to get him the mallet

But he handed him the spear

He beckoned soup from his wife

Alas! She mixed it with gunpowder.
Diverse tongues, diverse thoughts and diverse troubles

The mason called for more bricks

And he was murdered within a flick

To stop the felling of the wall, the little boy pleaded

All she could decipher was “Continue! Continue!! Mother!!!”

“All in one, one in all”, all gone.
Bonding bandage broken and blown away

All there is are numbing clusters

All strings cut and severed

Contention, strife and pains that comes with diversity

Obscure sting still felt as in the tower of Babel.

Transforming Touch

Transforming Touch

I wish I can but touch the hem of His garment

Even though the odds seem to be against me

For a decade and two, I’ve been having my head bent

I’ve resolved to turn deaf ears to “just let it be”.
“It’s the will of God”, was the attachment everyone had on

For right now, the negative talks of the crowd I strongly rebuff

The more the flow, the more I pressed forth, the more I pushed on

This my wish, worth and wonder, you can’t rid me of.
Just the hem of His garment and nothing more

A fraction of His virtue and I shall be made whole

Let me do the stretching and reach Him with my all

I need not be noticed, my primary goal.
And with gentlest of voices, He calmly said

” why go for the hem? When you can have the mantle,

Do not settle for just virtue, take wholeness too-

Not just for the body and your spirit my dear,

For I am here for your cares and I care for your fears”.
I’m just so glad with all these frenzies of poetry…I think I’m falling for this amazing year already… Or what do you feel?

Confused Love

The more I look, less and less I see

Me bethinking my insanity has peaked

But yet with my inner eyes your affection did see

As crystal clear as the fair weather sun

What sort of treacherous witchcraft have I engaged in?
The more I write, less and less my verses do seem

Hence and thence my floating head goes mute

Not from the apothecary’s juices

Nor from all the sipping from leaking liquors

Just beholding your glittering eyes cause brief shivers
Is it your straight jaw or munchkin physique that has me love-mad?

Or perhaps it’s the chirping sounds you make with your voice?

Or am I just nut going because of your possessed inner features?

So many questions making me less and less sane.
Four or five verses may this milady unimpress

A sixth, of a truth makes me seem distressed

Should I just give up and seek for another?

Or I wait on and see if it still lingers

Cos the more I struggle with it, the less it let me be.
Bruises now all over my head

Caused from scratches from supposed thinking

Should I run from this love or run with it?

Can this be love or am I lost in lust?

Oh! What kind of insane sanity this is?
(Please note that this poem, in part or whole be not reproduced or copied without permission)