The lingering scent of air
Slowly swayed by breeze.
A cold foggy morning
Lifted with ease.
The poet’s mind is such.
It throws a fit
And makes a fuss
Before it starts to emit
An atmosphere
Weaved by words,
Like Aurora Borealis,
And wage wars.
Wrestles with alligators,
Words, meaning, and play.
Simultaneously threads a needle
To stitch art even in May.
Poets are seldom born,
They are made.
Situations shape the same,
A sleight hand of fate.
For when the globe
Glows in heat
Or icy spikes and icicles
Replace concrete,
Comforted you will feel
And see a starry sky
As you peek into
The poet’s eye.
May 11, 2023
May 11, 2023 at 9:58 PM UTC
On a busy day,
A floor unkept.
“What’s this woman doing?”
Said Mr. Baker Brett.
With no delay came she,
Hair running below her knees,
Cleant the place
And served him his morning tea.
The innocent kid
Stood in the aisle
With a face devoid of smiles
And fiery eyes.
The struggles of this woman,
He dare not say!
He made a fist.
When the clock struck eight,
He picked up his satchel
And looked at his sister play.
She received no formal education
And was to stay that way.
The struggles that she may face,
He dare not say!
He held his anger in,
And walked away.
Time will pass and
His beard will go grey.
To his curious daughter,
What will he say?
That she ought not
To get educated?
To be slave to an unknown man?
He contemplated.
Wild wild, rage. He must
Burst out today.
He shook off the bad dream
And so will they.
Apr 25, 2023
Apr 25, 2023 at 11:15 AM UTC
The young lad
Studies through the dawn.
Sifting through pages
across the morning yawn
Wearily, he gazes through his glasses.
He tumbles somehow through the day
Trying, to understand the
Kinetic Theory of Gases.
When, oh when? Will it end?
His onerous rite of waking up
And studying, despite
Being worn out on the inside,
Keeps him afloat among the wreck.
When the world is sinking
Into an abyss
He is happy to just, be.
Yes he is,
To be on the verge of sanity,
To barely hold on to humanity,
To wake up, every morning.
For the situation outside is far worse.
While men lose their loved ones and
Moan in grief,
Happy he is; to study, and sleep.
May 25, 2021
May 25, 2021 at 4:33 PM UTC
Friendship may mean a lot.
To some, it is platinum memories
And to some other, mere dawdle.
It is not one feeling but many.
A bond sewn in love, respect and friendship.
Joy follows your presence, dear friend.
'How' didn't matter. Why?
I wanted to know the latter.
Like a dusty moon in the attic.
Reminiscence strikes again.
With pain, I remember our glory days
For everytime, it followed.
It feels like a decade.
Only the jubilance stays;
The way we spoke, forgotten.
You have embarked on greater adventures.
Though we may forget the food we eat,
That is what keeps us alive.
An old well-wisher of mine
Remember me.
To, my soulfriend.
Jun 18, 2020
Jun 18, 2020 at 8:36 PM UTC
A word like no other.
The world next to a mother
No matter how far away I go,
She always has me tethered
To my roots, my culture. I never forget
That horrendous day we met.
A wee babby in his uniform, parrying
Away at first sight.
You carved every inch of a masterpiece
Which grew ever thankful to you.
Though never chanted,
Your sobriquet remains holy in mine heart.
Shall God bless you
And life bequeath its bliss
For you, are a soul…
Crafted to craft.
May 15, 2020
May 15, 2020 at 3:35 PM UTC
I strolled through
A library. T’was as abandoned
In the hands of time
As the proverbial Ozymandias.
It guarded a wealth of knowledge
Under each leather wrapped parchment
Like a pearl inside an oyster, just
Not under Adam’s ale.
One of them, as abandoned as the former
Stared at me, sitting in a
Coze on the floor.
‘Mommy!’ it cried
In such a desperate and helpless manner.
Instantaneously bonded I with it.
It was one akin to a mother and her child
Fragile, yet quite unbreakable.
All this in a book.
Words I have not to say
About that fervid day
And how etched it is.
Apr 13, 2020
Apr 13, 2020 at 11:33 AM UTC