kitaka-alex - Hello Poetry

On Resilience Silence assembles in my room. A little snail is on the wall Climbing about like a groom. Is that all it knows.? All it carries is a shell. Might think, one, there is more Climbing about like all is well. silence is shattered in my room. A little snail is off the wall. From outside devoured the inside,a boom No more climbing about. The little snail... Is back in its shell.

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Mar 10, 2016

Mar 10, 2016 at 7:41 AM UTC

what mine eyes see, my brains perceive

On Resilience Silence assembles in my room. A little snail is on the wall Climbing about like a groom. Is that all it knows.? All it carries is a shell. Might think, one, there is more Climbing about like all is well. silence is shattered in my room. A little snail is off the wall. From outside devoured the inside,a boom No more climbing about. The little snail... Is back in its shell.

14

Can I do something else.? Running away from writing Running away from reading. I think, It is this thicket of books That brings about all this emptiness All this walk on a road not taken. If I can be killed now, Let it be now. Let I go with the darkness And when morning comes, Let my smiles be no more. Let my voice be in tatters Let my words be scattered. Perhaps I should throw away all the books in my shelf and glue my eyes on the television, believe and do whatever it tells me. Perhaps I should burn all the books and inhale all the smoke, till I get drunk and die. Perhaps and only perhaps. Am everything. Am nothing. Why? why....? Why books became, become my only friends We talk Do all things with each other But now am..,. I can't ell anything.

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Mar 10, 2016

Mar 10, 2016 at 7:27 AM UTC

empty.

Can I do something else.? Running away from writing Running away from reading. I think, It is this thicket of books That brings about all this emptiness All this walk on a road not taken. If I can be killed now, Let it be now. Let I go with the darkness And when morning comes, Let my smiles be no more. Let my voice be in tatters Let my words be scattered. Perhaps I should throw away all the books in my shelf and glue my eyes on the television, believe and do whatever it tells me. Perhaps I should burn all the books and inhale all the smoke, till I get drunk and die. Perhaps and only perhaps. Am everything. Am nothing. Why? why....? Why books became, become my only friends We talk Do all things with each other But now am..,. I can't ell anything.

24

Come...... Come...... Come..... **** me quick. Let my blood leak Into all bottles of wine What life is mine? Why did I stand in the rain? Immersing myself in this pain.? Come.... O! Come.... Come and **** me quick I cant bear the weight of this generation. I have failed to carry mine Then How can i bear theirs Come..... Come..... Come..... Quick I am not far Do you see that star? Drunk in melancholy, don't blame it. It is staring at me, with pity weighed down by melancholy. Follow its stare. Right where it directs you is where i am. Come.... Come... Quickly and **** me. Exterminate me from the body of the earth. Come and take my life But before you do so, Bury first, my words.....

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Mar 10, 2016

Mar 10, 2016 at 7:23 AM UTC

if you can **** you gotta **** my words first.

Come...... Come...... Come..... **** me quick. Let my blood leak Into all bottles of wine What life is mine? Why did I stand in the rain? Immersing myself in this pain.? Come.... O! Come.... Come and **** me quick I cant bear the weight of this generation. I have failed to carry mine Then How can i bear theirs Come..... Come..... Come..... Quick I am not far Do you see that star? Drunk in melancholy, don't blame it. It is staring at me, with pity weighed down by melancholy. Follow its stare. Right where it directs you is where i am. Come.... Come... Quickly and **** me. Exterminate me from the body of the earth. Come and take my life But before you do so, Bury first, my words.....

29

“Black is beauty” this she last heard in high school Eight years have now gone by And her skin is evident of a pink plastic plate fading under sunlight Black would have been beauty if her last boyfriend after high school Had not rubbed in her face You are not my taste He said so, After inserting his aggressive filament in her stigma What more did he want to taste? She thought, after him ploughing through her womanhood like a tractor You are too black to be black I prefer a light skinned kind of a woman, he went on This was the dialogue That put an end to their couple-hood Now it is more than monologue Between her and the her in the mirror Seeing her she had become Her that she was lured to First, it was the rusting of the shimmering black on her skin. Replaced by a colour similar to that of a dress worn by a ripe banana Yellowish beneath a fading blackish and a pinkish rising Yes, she was liked, appreciated and adored Men serpentined at the threshold of her door Yes this time around She was the one that sang the song She did not rub it on their faces, She rubbed it on their ***** You are not my taste I prefer a light skinned kind of man You are too black to be black… It is eight years now And her skin is evident of a pink plastic plate fading under sunlight

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Jan 15, 2016

Jan 15, 2016 at 4:26 AM UTC

Pink Plastic Plate

“Black is beauty” this she last heard in high school Eight years have now gone by And her skin is evident of a pink plastic plate fading under sunlight Black would have been beauty if her last boyfriend after high school Had not rubbed in her face You are not my taste He said so, After inserting his aggressive filament in her stigma What more did he want to taste? She thought, after him ploughing through her womanhood like a tractor You are too black to be black I prefer a light skinned kind of a woman, he went on This was the dialogue That put an end to their couple-hood Now it is more than monologue Between her and the her in the mirror Seeing her she had become Her that she was lured to First, it was the rusting of the shimmering black on her skin. Replaced by a colour similar to that of a dress worn by a ripe banana Yellowish beneath a fading blackish and a pinkish rising Yes, she was liked, appreciated and adored Men serpentined at the threshold of her door Yes this time around She was the one that sang the song She did not rub it on their faces, She rubbed it on their ***** You are not my taste I prefer a light skinned kind of man You are too black to be black… It is eight years now And her skin is evident of a pink plastic plate fading under sunlight

32

What scope have I to know? What field have I to explore? For the desire to exalt the mind from the dank dark valley of the body. Nothing. No a thing is mine knowledge of what weighs lesser than the wind. Yet to claim mine honesty, I let the wind. Failed I to quantify thy compassion. So this queue of bouquets of words. Splashing of sentences of flora. For just as constellations pertain to the sky, So art thou castellated within thine-self.

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Oct 16, 2015

Oct 16, 2015 at 10:16 AM UTC

TO WHOM IT MAY CONCERN

What scope have I to know? What field have I to explore? For the desire to exalt the mind from the dank dark valley of the body. Nothing. No a thing is mine knowledge of what weighs lesser than the wind. Yet to claim mine honesty, I let the wind. Failed I to quantify thy compassion. So this queue of bouquets of words. Splashing of sentences of flora. For just as constellations pertain to the sky, So art thou castellated within thine-self.

10

death is a - .............wo ......................who ..............................woe ......................................man W O m a n Eventually man will s.. e.. r.. p.. e.. n.. t.. i.. n.. e.. into her body Tear gripping ecstasy Obedience paid to laws of intimacy death bears ..............smi ....................ills .........................hills s m i l e s She is dead to love. She is alive to hate

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Sep 26, 2015

Sep 26, 2015 at 7:53 AM UTC

WHAT ABOUT DEATH ?

death is a - .............wo ......................who ..............................woe ......................................man W O m a n Eventually man will s.. e.. r.. p.. e.. n.. t.. i.. n.. e.. into her body Tear gripping ecstasy Obedience paid to laws of intimacy death bears ..............smi ....................ills .........................hills s m i l e s She is dead to love. She is alive to hate

36

A pen, firmly sat in the bosoms of her fingers. Tentatively displaying his virility on a paper. That shimmers like it has just been immersed in blood. The words, written, stink like burnt bird feathers

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Sep 23, 2015

Sep 23, 2015 at 9:06 AM UTC

Labor of a Poet

A pen, firmly sat in the bosoms of her fingers. Tentatively displaying his virility on a paper. That shimmers like it has just been immersed in blood. The words, written, stink like burnt bird feathers

7