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W' is a sick chicken wing for the boy
who did not behave well before Christmas
White and red are acts
White is an handkerchief for an old tear
Red you're a cue, Santa says reach a hand
'Q' is a murdered candy in Bobby's desires
It is this time of the year that fire seems kind
'Kpooo' and sparks; a boy's fear and laughter
I hear the church singing 'O come Emmanuel'
As a kingly star falls into our hearts
'S' is an escaping aroma from the casserole
Mummy is an artist
And daddy is a carpenter
Often it is this time of the year that beauty comes to home.

You came,
In circles
Like a woman
Anytime I looked you with lust, you fled astray.

Again you came
In turns
And turns
Smiling like a playful boy with iron canines
This time, you feigned a child and squeezed my testicles.

Often you arrive higher this way
At a completion of a parabola
Right at the base,
Hurling us inbetween coffins and graves
With a sicken essence
That we may die through struggles and still die again.

Life of man

Is like a flaming candle b’neath rivers



A ****** paradox


If solitude be joy, it is the hermit’s verdict,

Man could be the beast he wishes to be

And the very angel we yearn to see.

What treaty has man with futile predictions,

Ghost promises, stillborn prophesies?

And if there is a god to presage our destiny

Shouldn’t it be Man’s inner trinity?

Thus; I call faith, courage and fortitude.

Yet, No star, nor deity

kings our fate but wholly Thee;

Who governs the fine empyreal above.

B’hind the bridge of weariness and age

Is death―a boundless tributary

From life each man comes along with a Skiff

For some time in life rents a ferry

B’hind the bridge, each departs in a skiff

Into a wooden jeep, moving nowhere where we must be.


— The End —