Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
pretty girl,
beware,
the boys are out to get you
they'll take away your flower
they want what's only yours

pretty girl,
blossom slowly,
stay in your cocoon for now
for summer can only last so long
and soon it will be over
To this day,
your name
still hurts my tongue
but I still say it anyway.
Sometimes I like to
hear my soul
gently tear itself
apart.
Though time has built
an
endless warp
of
suffering and pain
the
ancient dust of Africa
is
breaking down the chain
can you hear
the
winds of change
shifting
through the brain
the
ancient dust of Africa
makes
diamonds
in
the
falling
rain
a message of hope to all parents
Of
the
Third world child
Why is poetry dying
when we still have the gift?
If we still have water
then we still have a ship.
We can sail to the places
these words take us.
We are still shaken
by the words that make us.
Why should we let poetry die
when there is so much to explore?
If only people read it
and discovered more.
Is it the words whispered
in secret corridors
i love you

are they proclaimed boldly
from roof tops
I LOVE YOU

Or maybe love
sounds like laughter
giggles shared only between two

what if love has no noise
its beauty is similar to a sunset
seen and felt
but never heard
 Oct 2020 Eugene Jino Maumela
J
Indeed, she’s a
once-in-a-lifetime
shooting star;
fleeting, cutting
through the
night sky.

What joy to
have seen
such fire.
What misery
to know she
will never
be mine.
Once-in-a-lifetime
Next page