Poetry
THE OLYMPICS OF SCARS
To What do I liken the Olympics of scars, Daily game written by the scribes of life. Where everyone wins or whines. A goat beget a kid. Happy and prancing on the hills, A day Read more…
Poetry
SEEING, WHEN YOU CANT SEE
I watched his persistence . Oh his knuckles, a firmer grip I see. The demons of inconvenience, their witchcraft’s initiated. The smooth roads rough and dusty they became. How does a man see when he Read more…
Poetry
AUTOPSIES I HATE
Yet I find self conducting one in my thoughts. Autopsies of how they treated me. Autopsies of what they said to me last. Autopsies of rejection, devastation, defeats and regrets like an unending river terrorises the weary soul. Everyday, my Read more…
