Weeping willows wail, wondering why winter walked away without wanting to wave goodbye.



Wintry winds and wild whispers weave their wishes in wantoness. While I watch warmth wrap my wrist and well-built waist.



Warm, warm, waveless waters.

Whist, windless wornout weather wins.

I slept on the bed
of a poet, Gibran
and there fell a poem
into my head
like a song…

“One day you will ask me
which is more important?
My life or yours?
I will say mine
and you will walk away
not knowing
that you are my life.”

I slept on the bed
of a poet, Gibran
and my dreams were filled
in my heart was a song
a longing so sweet
a desire too strong
till the museum guard came
and moved me along

Trigger warningVery disturbing
Dear sir, I write to you at a time when
Bloodshed has become a trending hashtag.
When genocide is another word for good morning.
When a mosquito bite has resulted in a bird flu
and the bird owner has been quarantined.
"The bird should be discarded" you decree.
On its wings it conveyed passion, ideas and businesses.
A confidant, a pillar it has become.
A pillar of support no government parastatal offered.
I write that you reconsider for from my little knowledge, no one can cage a bird.
It is meant for the skies so let it fly.
Yours faithfully, a very lazy youth.


@poeticifi