Dreams of My African King

In the quiet hours of night, my African king visits me. His presence, both vivid and elusive, dances across the tapestry of my dreams. We spar—our voices colliding over the phone, tangled in passion and discord. His white t-shirt clings to memory, a canvas for whispered secrets and unspoken truths.

Laundry day becomes sacred—an intimate ritual. He separates his clothing, each fold a promise etched into fabric. I, too, remember the days when I stumbled over his name, syllables tripping like hesitant birds. A thousand rehearsals, yet he corrected me gently, unraveling my mispronunciations with patience.

How much more can I love him? Love, unquantifiable, spills beyond boundaries. It echoes in the cooing of doves—their soft wings carrying messages between realms. To love is to risk—the precipice where self dissolves, and soulmates emerge.

He visits me, not only in dreams but also in waking life. I glimpse him on bustling streets, in the hum of subway cars, and within the ink of my poems. Our souls, celestial magnets, draw close. We need each other—an equation of hearts seeking equilibrium.

I am a believer in God’s design. He weaves our paths, stitches constellations into existence. My king, once stronger, faced battles that scarred his spirit. Yet God’s promises remain—our shared destiny etched in stardust.

Me ma wo akye—may your eyes witness miracles. In the quietude of night, may your African king’s silhouette linger, a beacon across the vast expanse of longing.

Whispers of the Heart

To fall for someone, a forbidden dance—
A waltz with shadows, a silent trance.
Accept the unacceptable, bury those feelings,
In the quiet chambers where desire conceals.
Filter photos, snapshots of dreams,
Reflections of what you imagine, it seems.
A mirror held up to the (perfect) you,
A sexier version, a fantasy come true.
As poets, we see things differently,
Through kaleidoscope eyes, we set them free.
The mundane, the ordinary, they transform,
Just like scented perfume, our senses swarm.
Reacting to life’s chemistry, we compose—
Ink bleeding emotions, secrets it knows.
So tired, so tired, my heart’s weary plea,
Echoing Elizabeth Browning’s symphony.
She, too, composed her inner feeling,
A sonnet of longing, a soul’s revealing.
Can you trust yourself to fall for fools?
Convincingly, they dance on love’s slippery rules.
A slippery love of devotion, dangerously sweet—
A precipice where hearts and reason meet.
And so we write, ink staining our hands,
Capturing the ache, the beauty, the sands.

In the tapestry of life, memories weave their threads, and the echoes of past workplaces linger like faint perfume. Seacrest, with its morning shifts and graveyard hours, left an indelible mark—a mix of disdain and nostalgia. The Stench, both literal and metaphorical, clings to the corridors of memory.
Retirement, a withdrawal from life’s hustle, offers solace. It’s like stepping out of a turbulent river into a calm pond. Yet, self-reflection creeps in—an inventory of wasted years spent in an institution were money reigned supreme. What good remains? The ledger is blank, the balance elusive.
Here, at sixty, sanity is my prayer. A few screws may be loose, but not enough to rattle the Monkey cages of life’s absurdity. Kindness flows, a gentle current, but I know it can backfire—a vulnerability in a world that thrives on sharp edges.
And you, a familiar face, a reminder: “This path, tread cautiously.” In my next life, I’ll be a poet—a real one, successful and unyielding. A master tinker, weaving words into magic. A philosopher, unraveling life’s mysteries.
But for now, I am Annie—the content creator, the mother, the friend in need. And perhaps, that’s enough.

There he stood on the podium, clutching a Bible. I hope some of us can recall that day—a day of disbelief, a day when we wondered, “What the heck is going on?” A fibber, a husband, a Republican—some might say he was the people’s choice. Now he’s running again, vying to lead his party. For his followers, he represents hope; for others, he’s a curse. The light, the brown, and the black foreigners—the ones who will rewrite history. Will they say this time that we’ve inherited a mess?
When I’m uncertain about my writing, my mind often returns to my childhood focus point: the poem “The Pied Piper of Hamelin.” It holds lessons to be learned. “Rage, rage against the dying of the light”—our fragile nation teeters on the brink of failure. To understand its message is to believe in the legend. Our nation’s wealth grew from the backs of slaves, and we grieve the injustices throughout history. An apple tree without fruit, cows without milk, chickens without eggs—a well without water. These little things we took for granted are like a nation lacking patience, kindness, and loyalty.
Proverbs 28:11 warns that the rich can be blinded by their own perceived wisdom, while the poor, possessing understanding, see through their delusions. It reminds us to seek true discernment beyond our own perspectives.
Crisis upon crisis—our dogmatic nation grapples with challenges.

He yelled at me in Ewe, my friend.
I asked him to calm down.
Such an accent, powerful and forceful,
It fired me up, igniting a desire:
Passionate love with him, that's my aim.
For this, he'll need a bouquet of flowers,
A gesture to mend the death of love!

I'm weary of waiting,
Boundaries blurred; no limits seen.
But patience prevails—good things await.
The Israelites sought a king,
And the Queen will welcome him to her chambers.
His voice softens, realization dawning,
My love needs solitude and respect.

My poems serve as my sanctuary,
Words of a woman in pain or perhaps love.
He yelled at me in Ewe,
A language I can't comprehend.
Bittersweet romance, tangled and mysterious.

The sun has risen, and a dove is cooing outside my window. All the tall buildings on my block seem to be resting. Here I am thinking of the cave man—his strength, his battles. Skylines, super tall buildings, and yes, some of us are not liking the look of our city. When there is no hope for your city, its citizens suffer tremendously. Why do other cities thrive better than some? The big question is, what makes a city thrive? ‘The more people you bring in, the more vibrant the city will become,’ Euchner said. But who are these people? (Ha! Ha! Profit holders.) Lack of empathy, people struggling with mixed feelings. While the impacts of rats in the subways make the alley cats stay low in the darkest alley, the sun has risen, and a dove coos outside my window. Meanwhile, the morning sun on the tall buildings seems hopeless. Here I am thinking of the cave man’s mental state: My brain is tired, my soul seems a bit weary, and I need more sleep (so mentally fatigued). Comme ci, comme ça!”

Our neighbors hate what they do not understand. As a child, it was so hard to comprehend such behavior. To me, it said more about them than us. However, envy is not jealousy; it was their way of feeling left out. They would say things like, “Her head is always buried in a book.” But to me, their noses were all up in my young business. I was always searching; I craved knowledge and loved looking up to intelligent people. As I listened closely to their words, I realized that conversation is a two-way street. Somehow, I loved being on their street just for the knowledge they seemed to possess. I never seemed to smile; my brain wouldn’t allow it. But somehow, my lips remained pliable. So many would say, “I saw your lips first,” but I knew I wouldn’t get a smile from you. My days aren’t like yesteryear; I don’t care anymore about other people’s feelings. The experts have a word or two for this kind of thing: “Emotional Invalidation” (rejecting other people’s feelings or thoughts). Or others might say, “I don’t give a [expletive].” In my youth, I loved beauty, but beauty moved slowly. I always knew that an ugly duckling would become the Queen of the swans. Our neighbors hated what they didn’t understand; they were too busy searching for words to put us down—words of hate, nothing that one could find in the dictionary. As a child, I never knew that grown women never wore underwear until that day when the neighbor fought her neighbor. Only two silk *******, and it was only for Sunday worship. So, the gossip goes, anxiety and uncertainty circulate. My neighbors and their offspring still hate what they do not understand. If you need to learn more, ask the village bread man.

Breathe Again
Did I truly accumulate years of experience, or were they merely years of monotonous repetition? The echoes of my past reverberate, etching pain into the fabric of my love life and work. As time advances, I find myself embracing a newfound indifference—a defiance against the judgments of others. That perennial question about my funeral guest list—whose presence matters, whose absence stings—loses its grip on my thoughts. Let them bury me beneath the ancient mahogany tree my father planted long ago. There, sheltered from life’s harsh winds, I’ll find my final repose.
Love and loss intertwine, their dance a testament to human resilience. Can love truly conquer the most relentless hardships? Or does fate hold us captive, binding us to our own narratives? My ex, who departed last February, lingers in the shadows. Does he know he left us behind? Could he return, inhabiting another vessel, weaving a fresh tapestry of mishaps and lost chances?
The best storytellers are keen observers, attuned to life’s ebb and flow. Like a river, I carry within me a multitude of stories—of sadness and fleeting happiness. These currents shape my existence, etching their marks upon my soul.

When You Loved Someone

When you loved someone, the world transformed. You’d shoot the moon and extinguish the sun, all in the name of that someone. The hunger in your belly became secondary; their nourishment mattered more. Your compass spun, recalibrating their magnetic pull. Family receded, replaced by the gravitational force of love.

Miles blurred into insignificance as you traversed continents, chasing their presence. Sanity, once a steadfast companion, now wrestled with your heart. “Madly in love,” they called it, as if madness and love were inseparable twins. Perhaps they were.

I rarely pen love poems; they demand feeling, not just ink. Was I ever in love, or merely enamored with an idea? The fairytales painted love in black and white, but reality’s palette is richer. Love, like accents, can deceive. Wicked tongues weave spells, and the voice of seduction whispers secrets in Ghanian Twi.

Yet, amidst the chaos, one truth remains: love drives us to madness, but true love rests on honesty. If your lovers change like seasons, they were never anchored in truth. Your house may be quieter now, but it’s a silence built on authenticity—a lie untold, because you love someone.

Summary: Love, both wild and tender, shapes our lives. Amidst the tumult, seek the truth—the quiet strength that endures. 🌟❤️

Time and distance—speed and time—allow us to see the good in most people. I strive to recognize the goodness in others, even when hope seems endless. They bid for my love, and my boomerang-addicted heart should know better. Why hide the truth about one's feelings? However, expressing emotions through self-care is essential. The unexplainable feeling of longing for someone so far away can also play tricks on your boomerang heart.

A natural height, whether safe or unsafe, can lead to a state of happiness. According to experts, euphoria or exhilaration accompanies certain achievements. Imagine being awakened by warm, manly hands on your body—instead of hearing him say, "I wish I were there" (😊 is a plus. Long-distance relationships require a reality check, considering both time and distance.

---

Dreams and Reflections

As dreamers, we awaken to find disappointments. Each of us dreams, but on different planes. Today, I still harbor the dream of owning a place—a safe haven, my wildest fantasy. While many aspire to be boss ladies, I revel in being the captain of my own soul. My situation remains deferred; I require no rescue. Surrounded by a few friends, I am a free-spirited poet lost in words. I copulate with illusions, my natural ritual—alone with my thoughts, fulfilling my soul. Thankfully, none of your spirits infiltrate my inner sanctum.

Goodbyes punctuate my relationships; loneliness, my chosen weakness. Like Lady Moses, I ascend the mountain of self-reflection, glimpsing my tomorrows before aiding others. We, the fake poets, are also


summary:

In essence, the poem encourages us to embrace our dreams, face disappointments with resilience, and seek clarity within ourselves before extending help to others. Life, like poetry, is a journey of exploration and understanding.

Beyond the bustling cities I’ve witnessed, From New York to Chicago, Boston, and Washington, Lies a stark reality of homelessness, Where hope seems elusive.
Yesterday, I engaged in conversation with a relative, As she walked through a parking lot, intent on reaching her car. A homeless man halted her progress, His plea for a dollar met with her momentary inability to provide.
Undeterred, he accepted her response with grace, His eyes lingering on her features, admiration in his words: “Lady, you look so fine. If I weren’t homeless, I’d take you out to dinner.”
Curious, she inquired, “Where would you take me?” His proud reply echoed through the air: “Red Lobster!”
Her smile persisted as she continued toward her car, Reflecting on his unexpected compliment. Rummaging through her car’s compartments, she found a dollar, Returning to the spot where the homeless man stood.
She handed him the bill, a small gesture of kindness. And what did we learn from this sweet exchange? Flattery, delivered with kindness, can soften even the hardest hearts. As citizens, we strive to help one another, Offering what we can, even if it’s just a few dollars.
My poems, my solace, my counsel to the world: Oh, my God, where are You? In times of need, I trust that eventually, You will take the wheel.

Psalm 90:6
in the morning it springs up new, but by evening it fades and withers.


When my heart returns in the seclusion,

I uttered these words to myself,

Give it time, be wise, embrace self-compassion

I must put myself first, I must, I must,  

This time around, I don't want to walk away,

Taste only me, make love to only me
Reflected only in my space.
enchantment leads to my dearest delight
enter my soul before the break of dawn

A dream within a dream according to Edgar Allan Poe

For our morning blessing/
Happy or sad, our morning salutations/
There is nothing more appealing  
Than seeing white undershirts and white teeth
as it captures the youth of innocent,  
falling in love, with a cub, half my age,  

A trickery of unfocused emotions bearing down.  


I can see no flaws,  
I see only what my heart allows,

Trembling lips, both top and bottom
gazing into those eyes of witchery illusions

Just this once, just feed me, just enter my soul  

This frigid northern cold, the Africa heat rises:
Who will bless this union?
When it all fades like leaf

All of us have become like one who is unclean, and all our righteous acts are like filthy rags; we all shrivel up like a leaf, and like the wind our sins sweep us away.

Let me love you for now,

Let me smile, while you smile,

aloud me, to accept you,

as you enter my soul

Today of all days I am dividing my tears into sections,

With each moment, with each tear drop and snuffle I makes

The paper tissues will always thread,  

crumbling signs some mishaps in life

surely, cannot be mended;



Yesterday was your birthday,  

Today it's my revelation, of life, (my life)

It seems lately, that I have taken a new route,

This road definitely is not paved with gold.



God truly bless heroes; he never fails me yet!

But, for sure I have encountered some obstacles,

Empathy, or just plain stupidity,  

I am an empath, I never thought I was this kind of person

As we grow older, it's so true that we see life in a different setting

the lows, the in-between and the high moments.

My so intensity, emotions, as they rise,  

and as they drop to low frustrations tolerance, I see red

Today, I need my ginger shots: who cares if it is unhealthy?



Today of all days I am dividing my tears into sections,

With each moment, with each tear drop and snuffle I makes

The paper tissues will always thread, crumbling signs of

some mishaps in life that surely cannot be mended.

Does anybody care about the upcoming presidential election this year?

Birthday feelings
Another year is back no longer can leapfrog this day
Where my body squeals on me from time to time
Melanin, flawless, caramel skin transparent
for you to view my friends,
Face ageless, mind intone to my compose poetry,
Every Nano second counting down to dust,
By the grace of the almighty:
The loud notification bell rang the old familiar tone,
From my well-wishers, on Facebook, and WhatsApp,
The thousands of unwanted gray hairs cover my silky black,
to match my aging face as I jokingly play around with my camera
My smiles seem to match well with my reassurance
of knowing that l am going to be alright today,
the loud notification keeps on coming,
I am releasing a happy energy
called I am alive and doing great
I have reached the good old age of ....
Here I am once again, unscrambling the word birthday,
Happy birthday to me.
copilot
Reflecting on our lives during birthdays holds a special significance. It’s a moment to pause, look back, and take stock of our journey. Here’s why it matters:
Gratitude: Birthdays remind us of the gift of life. Reflecting allows us to appreciate the people, experiences, and opportunities that have shaped us. Gratitude fuels positivity and contentment.
Self-awareness: As we age, we evolve. Self-reflection helps us understand our growth, strengths, and areas for improvement. It’s a chance to assess our values, beliefs, and priorities.
Life Lessons: Birthdays prompt us to revisit pivotal moments—the highs, lows, and lessons learned. These experiences contribute to our wisdom and resilience.
Setting Intentions: Reflecting helps us set intentions for the year ahead. What do we want to achieve? How can we align our actions with our aspirations?
**Celebrating Milestones: Each birthday marks a milestone. Reflecting acknowledges our progress and celebrates our existence.
So, on this special day, take a moment to look within, appreciate the journey, and embrace the next chapter. 🎂🌟
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Decorative image of graphic representations of green leaf

Divorce me, untie or break that knot again, (quote a line)

Even in death you think,

you have that hold on me:

It is the week of your passing, however it is

My everlasting reassurance,

another blessing, another year  

Gone into the unknown,  

it's has not yet been proven

About the scattering of your ashes  

Am I a fool, to feel sympathy for you.  

Or should I just simply smile and speak  

Boo!  boo!  or not to speak ill of the dead  



There goes the dead.

There is not a single blessing

Which we receive on earth

That does not come from heaven,

That source of our new birth

Deep within each blessing I received from heaven

we deserve it, blessing on blessing,

Either for me or for my loved ones

R.I.P G

We stare into the ceiling without looking at each other

Slowly you place your hands between my legs of burning desire,

I saw a portrait of your youth, as the silence engulf us:

My guilty pleasure, your disobedient hands,  

In a few hours you will become a man.

I didn’t cause this silence; our hearts were entwining (:)



My guilty pleasure, the portrait of your youth

A mother’s warmth, or just a cougar fantasy

Who made all the rules, society or us



The hearts asked for pleasure first,  

Then comes the sacrament of confession.  

my African prince of Lloren, Kwara, my vision



I will not accept that one and one should be two

A double plantain so jointly attached is still one

Love is not a substance, but at times comes off as one.

Therefore, from this day forward

I will treat love like a commodity  

Basis facts my guilty pleasure, your disobedient hands

Manly as ever, one day you will be my man. (:)  

As we walk the sandy beaches of Togo:

Just remember, one plus one doesn't add to two:

When my heart returns in the seclusion,

I told him to give me ten years,

In that time, he must see only me

Taste only me, make love to only me

Reflected only in my space.

Like an enchanted mirror or hope,

Our souls will continue to asked

For our morning blessing/

Happy or sad, our morning salutations/

There is nothing more appealing  

Then seeing him in his white attires

a baseball cap, it captures the youth of innocent,  

Is the fundament of falling in love,  

After being in seclusion, it's also terrifying,  

A roller coaster of emotion,  

a mere Smily hideous gestures/

I can see no wrong now,

I can see no flaws,  

I see only what my heart wants me to see

Him, those eyes, those high cheek bones,

While I let me let my soul make love,

Under the warm of the sun,

And the cold from the north,

Entwining into each other’s arms

Who will bless this union?

Who will be there for us,

When it all fade like leaf

All of us have become like one who is unclean, and all our righteous acts are like filthy rags; we all shrivel up like a leaf, and like the wind our sins sweep us away.

Let me love you for now,

Let me smile, while you smile,

Let me , let me, let me..

When you have finished your work, I have something important to tell you all

Come in closer, closer, I remember walking down 54 street on a cold December in Manhattan

I had just finish with a job interview

a little frustrated but nevertheless

I have given praises to the almighty for allowing me to see another day

Never mind I was jobless, after two years of sending out my resume and making

Numerous phone calls to business throughout the city.



It was a cold day in December, I hit the pavement and was looking and praying to find myself a job  

As I was walking down the busy street, I saw a queue from here to Halifax

So, I decided to join the line,  

not even knowing what it was all about (nosey me as usual)  

I never even asked any of the people on the line, what was going on



So, this white lady with a clipboard in her hands, came out of the building and was escorting A few people at a time, to come in.

I stood trying to be looking smart as I am, and waited

When it became my turn, this lady looks at me from head to toe

And said to followed her, I did as I was told

She led us into the room, and started to hand out a test sheet:

She said we half only twenty minutes to complete it

I stare at my test sheet he had like 40 questions,

And some math, and vocabulary sentences to complete

I finish the test in less than 20 minutes,

Wondering what is next to come with the lady

I got up she stare me down once again,

Took the test sheet and asked me to wait in this waiting room:

Once again, I did as I was told.



After another 20 minutes she came and got me,

He exacts words.

“We are looking for people to work in Macy department stores,  

Throughout the city in all departments store

what hours can you work miss lander?

I sigh for a moment and say, the morning shifts

She said I ace the test; she took ANOTHER look at me again:

And spoke. You will BE BETTER OFF in the shoe department

Not the clothing, not the beauty counter, but the shoe department

I put my fake smile ON and thank her so much,



How dear she, after praising me on my test results

Because my *** was black,  

she wants to put me in the shoe department:

I filled out the necessary paperwork for pay roll

And I shook my head in miss believe,

I came home, and I tossed the paper in the garbage

And never took the job.

My beauty is meant to be seen,

To love beauty is to see light

I might not have been beautiful to her, but

Beauty is happiness,  

Racism is really a curse,

The advantages and the disadvantages of trying to keep a person down

They just can’t see beyond the color of our skin.



Rather than just saying we’d like to live in a more fair and equal society, we need to do our part to achieve it. (Quote)

I will always have the fear of love
.
A fear of relationships and love tends to be deep-rooted,
and be connected to a fear that love hurts (quotes)
The heartbreak, the intimacy of knowing, that they were there
And now they are in the arms of another,
Doing the things that they had promise to us
Like loving us to death, while opening mortal wound:
Death ends a life, not a relationship>” Mitch Albom
What is lovely never dies, but passes into another loveliness
I hate my x, but not his offspring,
I love coke- cola but not the caffeine
I love ***, but not the togetherness:
I will always have the fear of love,
But I will always remember that one kiss,
The last goodbye, but his first hello
That look in his eyes, the day I saw him cry
I won’t apologize for guarding my heart
My expectations, of him shatters us
(My soul, wait in silence for God only, for my hope is from Him. Luke 3:15)
I shall not be afraid to walk the street alone
Without his hands in mine, or his comforting words
At the stop light, “please wait before we cross”
But I still have the fear of love for the mortal man
He oppresses, dehydrates and ever suffocates us (quotes)
However, God’s love never fails us:
I shall always distance myself from love
Even many might say that love is life,
And life is worth living without that kind of love.
I shall never tremble again, nor grip my heart
Because love had disappointed me
My love for them is real, they love for me is about the money,
,

Now my hands buried
In my pant, my hair all mated
Resting on my warm:
In the back of my head
"The ***** is an altar, and the ***** hairs are the flames upon the altar."(quote)
resting on my warm...was your imaginary hands,
Your notification startles me
A cold bed, noisy neighbors
And all I want was you.....

You are my one and only desire,
I crave for your body to connect  with my soul
Your heart, and yours only yours(quotes)

July 8th, 2022, I fly over the cuckoo’s nest

Here I am today with you feeding my addiction
this admiration without love is the fruit of reflection

Your values, my custom, and my abilities to comprehend:
One day you will search through the lonely earth for me,
However, would I be there
,
Would I at the moment in time care?
My library card is overdue/ or it my libido (😊
Don’t make me beg, don’t make me cheat

My friends said to me,
The sweetest lips deserve a kiss
But whom am I to ask for this (quote)Pj.)
My true confession of a low sX.s .s drive, chick.

Only name the day, and I shall be there

This morning the notification woke me up

With still sleep in my eyes I reached for my phone

And the tone  

lingers from that Twi in my ear

Annei I love you though, despites his tears

To forget the world, and they negativities

Of a love such as ours, it clean, it’s pure

Love does not speak volumes(quote)

It speaks the honesty of another one confession,

Loving another person is hard work,

Only true love to me is a newborn baby love

for its mother, he trusts her immediately  



As we gaze into each other eyes,

We smile, we reminisce we both lied:

We try to outdo each other:

Was I king liar or was he king Lear?

Revealing too much, or revealing a little

Listen carefully, and responding with affection

Or simply use the body language

This fool will get back to you.

And old gal interpretation of fear not want not

We really don’t get each other:

My darkest fear is why did he walk

The dark street of Accura at 3.am?

That’s when my psychoanalysis study step in:

Where the boy seeks, love in an old familiar place

the street love of his childhood dream;

I asked of him not cut his hair

It makes him look like a youth,

Older men take advantage of desperate  

Looking youth, because of the boyish look,  

and that all it took:

Meat for the belly, and the belly for the meat(quote)

So, happily this morning I decline,  

You learn a lot about a man by his behavior when hungry. ~ Zambian Proverb

Whatever is good is God.
Whomever chooses to be bad is just evil
So let the foul pollute himself.
Whomever continues to lie let them lie
bad liars must have good memories:
Today, my avocation is what help me
Its help deal with the madness, that surround me:
It only takes the one, two, three to set off my anxiety
“The thoughts you resist persist.” quote:
The positive energy I retain, I immediately give off
a hearty welcome, with a smile is just letting you all know
That I appreciated every one of you.
Whatever is good is God:
Whomever, chooses to be bad is just evil
My life is an open book, as I reveal it my poetry writing
Some folks do plastic surgery to better themselves
I improve my minds with my writing,
Words are my friends, so I surrounded myself with words
As my broken heart hurt me my writing improve like
A crying baby who was given a lollipop:
At times brain sax calm me,
Lying awake wouldn’t help the situation,
But the tick Tok tick sound of rain, might:
I choose my words carefully,
Because the manufacturers lie at times
All sizes don’t fit all.

Come, let us plant the seed of love,

let's create what some scientist said that was impossible

Let our love show in a magnificent way

Let it be healthy, wealthy and wise in coming years

It would be tears, it would be joy,

He would be our love joy and our sweet boy:

There is madness, there is happiness,

However, as we all know, happiness is found in the

Madness of one's life.

“There is always some madness in love. But there is also always some reason in madness.”


― Friedrich Nietzsche



Enter me with the warmth of your love,

Deposit the gift of life, as you seed flow and reach the tubes,

One smart egg will bond to become our next generation



Why would we do this, why?

Love like this is rare,

Come, let us plant the seed of your love  

And we shall see our blessing of tomorrow.

Are you ready for fatherhood,  

Are you ready for the responsibility

Are you ready to believe that one plus one  

Equal three, are you ready kuku?

So, let's plant the seed of love.

We plant this seed, on the bed of  

Residency the Blessing, on the coolest night

In Accura, near the Gulf of Guinea,

A sign of life, a sign of hope,

You should plant this seed,

It could be a future doctor

who would  cure, senseless disease

A politician who can change numerous things

As he travels the world for free,

And speak up about the country economy  

Or become the better poet, than his mother

Could ever be, Lord blessed thee!

One day his grandchildren will ask

Who was my grandparents, thank God

For them, that hour, when they planted the seeds.

Your flesh was never warmer to my passion(quote)
My passion was more than you could have deal with
My love of poetry writing, is my secret weapon
I am not gifted, I am black, however I am motivated by words,
I have never found them too difficult to string together,
But to make sense of them, that is another matter
Sometimes I think I am madder at life situation than an the Madhatter
I love to think that I am in love,
But this love thing doesn’t love me,
My mood at my age can change like night and day
And as the saying goes, I can't come out to play on a rainy day (no way)
Loving from a distance, and loving from the heart is also risky,
These are times when ones have to reach for the bottle of whiskey,
Sometimes, I think I am winning, but sometimes I have to take a step back
And recharge, because living in a fantasy world of lies, *** and video links,
Can be extremely dangerous, like the mixing bleach,
Words from his lips in his native tongues,
easily soften my heart, (today my heart is racing for you)
Such poetic, sound, I love to watch as he cleanses his body
For forty-five minutes, all I could think of to say to him
had you ever thanked God for such a blessing:
His smile said it all. I release my eggs: because of the poetic gesture:
My birthday will be in five days,
My age is reducing, because of feelings,
Somehow my body seem to be laughing at the calculation (😊
Rudderless!! But to hell with it , I am not docking no time soon
Ama is on her way to ….

Life is like a camera, so,  

We must capture each moment

Like a pro, with the important

Of being sweet and innocents as  

We held them closer to our hearts,

the eyes of her grandmothers

The fingers of her father,

Said its all, a princess of both worlds

Our number one girl, Nyla

And old saying, if we raise our children right

And without spoil them,  

We will not have to end up raising our grandbabies,



Her mother smiles when her baby smiles

A grandmother laughs out loud  

When her grandbaby gurgle at her

As she coo and make eyes contact,



We just have to listen to find real poetry,

As we make any day with Nila our favorite day,

Pink looks well on her, as we capture,

The beauty of an adventure future Queen,

I saw adventure,

I saw the colors of the rainbow,  

I saw Ilene smiling in heaven,

I saw prophet, prophesying,  

I saw two families coming together from different world,

The cool color of pink symbolizes the joy of happiness

As I listen to the sound of real poetry

My cousin, our sweet pea, my cotton candy,  

Our baby Nila..

,

LORD THANK YOU FOR LOOKING OUT FOR ME ONCE MORE
THE DEVIL CAME TO MY DOOR, I LET HIM IN
I ALMOST SIN, AND NOW HE LEFT HIS MARK BEHIND
THAT TOO WILL FADE IN TIME: Duration
I AM INNOCENT IN THIS MATTER
I TOO FEED UPON THE KINDNESS, AND Vulnerability OF OTHERS
WHO WAS TRYING TO DEFRAUD ME,
SO, I WILL THINK OF IT AS THE PLAYER GOT PLAYED
MY IMAGE, AND WORDS WILL BE ****,
BUT MY SOUL WILL STAY NUPTIALS
Lord, forgive me if my need
Sometimes shapes a human creed.
BEEN HIDING WAY, WAY TO LONG
I WAS PRESENTED  with A CHALLENGE
TO GO OUTSIDE AND PRETEND
THAT I WAS SEEING EVERYTHING FOR THE FIRST TIME
AND RENAME EACH AND EVERYTHING THAT I SAW
CAN I ERASE MONTHS OF MEMORIES, AND DO THE SAME?
TO EASE THE PRESSURE OF GOING INSANE?
THE WORD LOVE STICKS IN MY WIND PIPE,
AND SILENCE MY SMILE AND MY ****** IMPRESSION
SOFTLY, I WILL FORGIVE MYSELF AND CALL IT
MOMENTS OF STUPIDITY, ANOTHER PAGE FOR
MY BOOK ABOUT SUFFERING IN MY LIFE;
deficits...?Am I aging with sense, or weakening with relationships deficits...
Instead of being ******* myself I should adopted this way of thinking

“Instead of putting our elders out to pasture, we might learn to harness the experience, affection, and time they have to offer.”

Yesterday my name was Babe
Tomorrow I will be called ******
But at this hour it will be Nalda
The one who escapes from the jaw of the lappers
Annie We Can Do It..

I want to write poems about the poems
That I have already written to release my stress
I remember my first one about the internet night stalker
Whom in his words wrote that I was like dessert rose?
Low maintenance succulent that makes a man like him
Lose sleep over me, in return they became holy
ending all of the sentences with an Amen!
My poems had to make someone think
About love, lust and disgust, to mankind
Especially by the ****** arousal of men
*** is bad for women, those who are
Disgusted by the touch of a man:
Those who were used by A WOMANIZERS
Sometimes these women feel disgusted by ***
Once bitten twice shy
Politics and politicians are about power and glory
Their intention is never about making others happy.
Another ****** moment of being undone!
Nothing but A medium rare steak—
similarity to fake ******:
UNDONE!
One of my best would be to free *****
But allowed my poem to run freely thought-out
The internet, so that my words could reach foreign land
And it works, thousands of viewers read my thoughts,
Some even made comments,
love yourself, then my poems, appreciated them for what they are,
because what this world needs now, is love, sweet love,
not hate, free ***** but let my poem travel.

These days I am loving TikTok more
Then writing my poems, ouch!
My body is not like meat,
Ready to be eaten, without the fear
Of contamination, harsh words indeed
My body my temple, my Floribbean honeydew
But tonight, my room seems crowded
The side chicks, the **'s and there you are.....
John crow I should indeed say:
My poems are messages from me to myself,
I am calmer tonight more than any ocean
The Pacific Ocean have nothing on me,
Even though it’s the most dangerous than any other ocean:
Writing about one's pain can bring out the best in my work
Pain forces you to go on a journey of self-discovery (quote)
I forget my true self when I am in love: whom am I really?
I am a ***** with a switch,
A past that was never attractive, only my illusions.
I thought that you were my king of my castle
Tomorrow I shall be sober, from the wine
I didn’t drink, then I will make some adult decision.

*** the controller
They heard us outside the bedroom window
Breathing, Moaning, Panting, Grunting and Screaming
in the calm of the night, calling name of the Gods
While the salty sweat drips from our bodies,
Under the Caribbean heat waves, many moons ago
what a summer to remember
But some confusion for the nightly crickets' melodies
Who thought that their sound was the loudest?
They were trying to tell me something with
their loud bark, danger, danger, danger, danger, danger, danger,
Little did I know what it meant,
It took me years to interpret the meaning of a dog bark
But with a poem, I can now relate with poetic words
Their bark was meant for me, myself and I

A little guest house near Oisten, the ocean breezes five minutes away
And at the time, deep withing I thought that I was in love,
With love, or a dream, which became my futuristic mishap
When I forgot to love me, myself and I
The spirit of a dead lover, wants to control me

All *** is about energy, and sound brings energy."—Barbara Carrella

And the bark of a dog pitch can foretell one future,
Too late, but now I know....

We seek wakefulness,
What is Barbados to me?
Hot sun, and Broad Rim hats and old khaki pants?
Robust men with warm undertone skin,
That blends with the cultivated land.
We seek constant reassurance from the one we love
That they will be there for us in good times
Or bad times, just to feel good about ourselves.
What is America to me,
I mean so much to me,
A place where I was able to educated my offspring,
While I work from sunrise, to sundown
Under pressure, under humiliation however,
Every sunrise holds more promise, and every sunset hold more peace. – Anonymous.
We seek solutions for all the hateful people,
We cannot solve our problems with the same thinking that created them.
”
We can’t sit back and do nothing
Or wonder when the race hate will be over,
I think the Putin's war in Ukraine going after the wrong people:
We seek justice, for hate crimes
What Jamaica to me?
The place of rhythm of swing and slay
Where someone can fall in love today
And deceive you the next day:
We seek answers, but only God know
That his creation is out of control:
We seek peace and peace comes with love
Where there is no love, in one's heart
There will be no peace.
We all know about a little wisdom
But did we put it to the test
God opens millions of flowers every day without forcing their buds
Food for thoughts my poetic friend.
Be vigilant, be wise, never trust anyone.

His favored ones, whose backs bend o’er the soil,
He blessed the hands of the ones who look after
His animals, with loving care, with sweet voices,
So gentle so caring, then, he blessed his children
In everything they do. And that is you, my Johnny
Tears, praise, love, joy, enwoven in your chest
As I watch you make adjustments, like the river of life
However, Johnny where there are no Roses
There is no hope of predicting, the love of a side chick(😊
With lots of bedroom tricks, more than professional decorator:
My wonderful brave robustly man of the soil,
I love your smile, your pouty lips,
And the way in which you announce my name,
Your gift from God is supreme,
as well as my futuristic dreams
Brave one of the Caribbean soils,
It was a wonderful thing you done
That night as you stay up late and spoke
Hello to me!

My Wednesday Ranting .. Therapy
In deep darkness on a cold night
I listen to his heavy breathing,
He seemed like a tired person last night
Today, I am tired of broken love,
Tired of not being able to fully trust
This thing called love,
Love is supposed to be kind,
Love is supposed to be patient
He wants to cuddle, I just want to sleep
I never know when a poem will come to me
Throughout the simplest ordeal.
I love his smile; I love the feel of
his prickly unshaven ****** hair against my cheeks
As I write, I create myself again and again---Joy Harjo--
As I write, I remember bad times, bad things,
Of infidelity, --- Annie Lander
It wasn’t cheating, it was the image of my thing
Doing things to others, making them scream!!!
My wicked unsettled mind keeps asking me questions
That I cannot answer, however, I had asked God
To protect me and my sanity.
Let my fears compose a poem
And allowed me to understand, why the most painful thing
On earth is to love a man?
“Sometimes, giving all of your love isn't much so save a good soul, it demands soul for a soul as fair payment.”
― Gurusharan Singhs

A little nod to
Walter Everette Hawkins
Ask me why I love you, dear,
And I would ask the sparrow
If it matters! That he ..he stutters
Love is a forbidden nectar,
And so we are like flowers; and bloom only, when the sun, kisses us.”
― sir kristian goldmund aumann,

Don’t ask me if I still love you
I wouldn’t ask you my heartbeat,
If being downright violated isn't too much for me
Ask me why I love you, one more time
And I will ask the debt collectors for more time
Or I will ask my brain, not to confuse me
mind, body, soul and spirit (my Trivedi effects)
Then it wouldn’t be any need for us to get upset
If I get the right answers
I will smile with you again,
Ask me why I can't trust my heart with you
Let the other one reply.
She knows you better than I do,
When the **** hits the fan
Where the heart is pure
And if we can’t find the answers
We shall depart
only the inner voice gives me freedom

Lady Folly
He did not kiss me when he said good-bye;
I let him go, not asking why,
Self-reflection
But I knew why, today I am taking a break
To reflect on myself, on this blessed Palm Sunday
What do I really want, what do I really need?
Somedays I think I know,
especially then I fall back into my mode
I see things others don’t,
my ****** muscle contracts each time
he rolled over, and touched, another,
even as he spoke kindly, I always knew
It's not cheating for him. Somehow for me
It's an invasion of one's privacy
As I feud within: I shattered mirror,
Of myself, this can’t be love it's not real:
Even though,
I’ve learned it is far better to lay in an empty bed
Then to lay next to someone who makes me feel empty(quote)
In my case, I am experiencing a folly of a woman
When Lovely Woman Stoops to Folly


WHEN lovely woman stoops to folly,
And finds too late that men betray,
What charm can soothe her melancholy,
What art can wash her guilt away?
The only art her guilt to cover,
To hide her shame from every eye,
To give repentance to her lover,
And wring his *****--is to die.

Oliver Goldsmith
URL: https://able2know.org/topic/6894-1
Poetry can be therapy, poetry can be therapeutic,
These past memories, months of longing feelings,
I need the touch of his hand, his voice I can easily retrieve
The path of my writing is a path of truth,
I am the one that contributed to this madness,
I am the one with the poet's keyboard and pen
I am the one that should have just stayed friends,
I am the one that hate all men,
I am the one that loves, hates, and then love again,
Emotions, emotions, keep taking me in the wrong direction,
I want to go back, to my safe place, called loneliness
My heartbreak hotel

Make love to me with thine eyes,

I will respond with my body

Never leave me feeling unfinished

Like the house of a carpenter

I will never ask for more;

my ****** drive increase,

Shifting, like a rebel without a cause

I will not Forfeit, until you are ready

Or until my heated pillow catches on fire.

Make love to me with thine eyes,

never let your hands touches my body.

I will send you kisses by GIF tenor

But I will cartoon your Pilli **** with pleasure

The lord is my shepherd  

I shall not want. Psalm 23

However, Make love to me with thine eyes,

I will not forfeit, until you are ready

If not for me, let it be of goodwill

Passion had finally erased my calm, (quote)
I look toward the long stretch of beach in coney Island
The couple walking the boardwalk, I visualize that it was us on the island of Barbados, walking, bare feet on the sand
And only space between us, was a little cool breeze.
You can bring the vitality back at any age,
I wonder if you would kiss me on my forehead
Before reaching for my pouty lips,
I wonder if you would whisper my name before you
Reach for my breast, these things might mean nothing
To you, but to me, it said, we are ready,
I wonder if you find a seashell, and
Place it next to my face, and jokingly
Say to me. She sells seashells at the seashore
In response I would jokingly say
“To avoid having *** with her Johns!
I am sure, I am sure! I am Sure!
Passion had finally erased my calm
But being there with you, it would be my lucky charm.

A proud look, a lying tongue, and hands that shed innocent blood,
Oh heart, oh heart, my heart that burn with desires
When would you learn, when would you stop lusting
My wicked burning desires, you will destroy me
He never woos me, he never made love to you
Yet he seems to control my ever moods
Dracula, had drawn my blood before,
The viper had tortured my soul, now he is dead
Tomorrow will be the death of his passing,
Today, I am feuding with his spirits, whom he transferred
Into the body of another, whom I thought had rescues me from
The darkness of my depression, did I want to achieved this
Kind of happiness, or did I just want to feel his manhood
Between the thighs, and his lips on my breast, and
And hour or two would have predicted the rest.
Communication is supposed to be the key,
He removed the key from the rack
And once again, I am on hold,
Loose lips will always sink ship
I will never, make excuses for my outspokenness,
If I, do it will only weaking me,
But I know, that one and one always equal two.
What can he bring to the table,
Dead love, I need to know why me.
The shame, the pain, and mostly this game:
Love me or leave me. I have to stop running.
Here we go again, breaking up,
The good will always outweigh the bad.

With all of our desires,
Why does our relationship seem?
So, in and out, in and out,
A wash basin kind of love,
Sam Smith title, Fire on fire
Will burn out like Lits candles
I am deprived from gazing deep into your eyes
my genuine smile, been caught up
In a confusion mode,  
the light in my eye's dims
I am not accepting another I love you exchange,
I rather have the Thank you note.  
Or sir please keep the change!
With the old Sunday kind of blessing ending of Amen!!!!
Because loving you is not true, fighting fire on fire
Let's us save those words and come up
With the original plans, you are not me
I am not you!!!
This wash basin kind of love
With overflowed, and the love
Will run deep into the drain  
Heading straight to the river currents,
Fire on fire, no love should ever endure,
With all of our desires, are tainted with sin
I know of your motive,  
I understand their motivation.
With all of my desires, I am so
Seizing this Burning fire!
When you unveiled on your wedding hour
let it be  
Your true desire.( L)

Having a fight with you  
Is like punching myself,
Trying not to get bruise,
Our soul is connected,
My heart sway each time we speak
inflecting pain without intentions
Yelling at each other for no reason.
Trying my best to see things your way
Knowingly, it's so wrong to stray from the love
Can this kind of pain make me feel better?
Or scar us for life?
Having to fight with him
It’s like taking a swim on a cold winter day
Without thinking of myself as a polar bear,
We always said I love you, daily
Can love conqueror all.
My heart knows how to attracts emotional pain,
Our souls are waiting to make that ****** connection
So, I don’t want to fight with him.

She Steal Like a Thief
Her husband married his mistress
She closed her eyes and once again
    she lost him to that
She thinks of him as omnipotent

At last! she wears his ring
Now it’s time to bridle her tongue
and show the world that
she belongs to Master Singh

What goes around comes around
Karma is a . Now its casual ***
with Tess the * switch

He smiles, she laughs
He slows down, she picks up the pace
He sneezes, she said bless you”.
she began her new life without hesitation, without delay

To her the man is omnipotent God
worshipping the ground, he walks
yes, master, no master

somehow, she manages
to love, honor and obey.
she steals like a thief

Three months ago, I never had any thoughts

About, love, loving someone, or being in love,

They say a good love is one that sits you down, gives you a drink of water, and pats you on top of the head. But I say a good love is one that casts you into the wind, sets you ablaze, makes you burn through the skies and ignite the night like a phoenix; the kind that cuts you loose like a wildfire and you can't stop running simply because you keep on burning everything that you touch! I say that's a good love; one that burns and flies, and you run with it!”
― C. JoyBell C.

If I was to tell you that I saw a rose blooming in the heart of winter

No one would believe me, that love struggling to stay afloat.

Perhaps, the rose is here to remind us, of something, we’ve have forgotten

During the summer's months, (like did we stop and smell the roses)? Such cliché indeed)

I never thought of the rose, until two days ago, when I told my friend about

That single rose I uses to get ever 6th of the month:

That too had stopped when our love for each other was dying like the rose:

However, the memory is still here, did I appreciated the rose gestures on the months

Yes, I did, I felt love, I felt the warmth inside.

It seems like I am going to be alone once again for Christmas

But I will think of that single rose,

I will drink my eggnog, and baileys Irish Cream

But will not bake my goose, but I will relive

Past memories, my mistletoe kiss will have to wait,

And disguise my disappointment like a true trooper:

(Laughter brings many positive qualities into the world and into human relationships.) quote

I am now seeing, why a laugh, a smile, a body gesture

Can make a person feel so good inside,

When he smiles at me:  

And it's because, I open my heart, once again:

That night before I left for foreign land

the moon seems sadder,

As the night crickets cry louder  

Flyer flies hide among the wet grass

Why hide, why hide,



But like others, before me  

I had a dream, while I was awake

I saw sally, I saw Brad,

I saw a vision, of greatness,



Go quietly; a dream

This time it wasn't a dream

But my king heading to the elevator,

My heart was pounding, or was it unfolding

When would I see him again,

What made us fall in love.



Natural high, natural high was it a safe high?

Love can be addiction, unknown to most,

Should I go and retrieve it or wait

And see if my boomerang heart, can bring him back

I will stand at my front door, and see if my love

Would Land on my door step,  

I always love to tell him, how my day went

When he calls my name, I get hot

Even when it cold, and there he is there being hot,

Is he man enough for me,

Just prays that he always smiles for me.

Garfield
My Love, G


Your skin glows like the mango skin

blossoms desirable as the flowers in the purest hope of spring.
My yearning heart rises to your steel band voice and leaps like a female goat bleep

at the whisper of your name, G.
The evening ascends in on a great dove wing,
the ones that were in a flock this morning.
I am calm by your warm cotton white T-shirt

That you wore so well, just to please me.

You brought the joy back in my life:

You carry into the twilight, the van beams light
night for night and park just to chat with me

while you held streetlight flash next to your face,

The sign of powerful genes, the sign of eternal love


I am filled with hope that I may dry your tears

With the taste of my soursop lips upon

Your fats cheeks, as i make you laugh out loud.


while my eyes fall from your eyes, a constant reminder

  of that smile we shared in my living room,

.
In the hushed, I listen for the last whoosh of the fall's leaves

Instead, I removed your hands from my pouty breast

You constantly remind me off.

.
our soul long for each other touch



I wait in the crystal moonlight for your secret message,

so that we may race as one, arm to arm, in search of the glorious blue sensual wings of love.

Who know me best,  

Who know me, (me)

When I fall in love

I fall hard, or am I mistaken his love

For candy on my eyes, for now,

Or is this the real thing,

I know the truth,  

Am I in total denial of wanting.

Denial has a dark side:

I have a past, of repeating,

The same mistakes,  

Why can’t I see passed those brown eyes,

The saddest part, he hasn't taken me to cloud nine

Or touch my G spots, or glorify me,

What is it about him, that make me thirsty,

I cry so much last night, I cried  

Cry of loneliness, ****** deprivation,

I even cry after ***, they called it the

drowning in a sea of feel-good chemicals like oxytocin and dopamine,  

But it never happened, the done deal so why am I crying?

I will blame this one on my booster shot,

What the hell they injected into my body?

I am seeing things in a different form of light.

Or is my lack of trust?  

I cry even more, seeing his ringtone

And refused to take the called,

Just wanted him to reach for me instead,

I wonder if he has any idea, of what he is

Doing to me: I am a woman,

I need to be touch.  

How can I overlook this jealousy?

And focus, on me, and not on you.

Your needs are being meet,

I feel like I am pregnant, again, waiting  

For that little life inside of me to

Come out and love me. Wholeheartedly

When my heart returns in the seclusion,

I told him to give me ten years,

In that time, he must see only me

Taste only me, make love to only me

Reflected only in my space.

Like an enchanted mirror or hope,

Our souls will continue to asked

For our morning blessing/

Happy or sad, our morning salutations/

There is nothing more appealing  

Then seeing him in his white attires

a baseball cap, it captures the youth of innocent,  

Is the fundament of falling in love,  

After being in seclusion, it's also terrifying,  

A roller coaster of emotion,  

a mere Smily hideous gestures/

I can see no wrong now,

I can see no flaws,  

I see only what my heart wants me to see

Him, those eyes, those high cheek bones,

While I let me let my soul make love,

Under the warm of the sun,

And the cold from the north,

Entwining into each other’s arms

Who will bless this union?

Who will be there for us,

When it all fade like leaf

All of us have become like one who is unclean, and all our righteous acts are like filthy rags; we all shrivel up like a leaf, and like the wind our sins sweep us away.

Let me love you for now,

Let me smile, while you smile,

Let me , let me, let me..

I will always say hello,

Oh my baby, hello, hello,

Am I the one for you,

We just don’t know,

I am feeling you,

I wanting you,

I teasing you, I am loving you

Hello, hello, I will always say hello,

Your hello is contagious

But I wouldn't be label the

The guinea pig project,

No trick, no ****,

Thank you for bringing me back to life,

My mother believed in prayers, more than my father did

My father believed in tackling his problem with a flask of  

White ***, I believed in the moment of things:

They are hidden compartments inside of us,

“Being in the moment” can be a helpful reminder if we understand it in a more expansive way

Perhaps it was true, when someone said to deal with some situation at moment times

I refused to grieve for my dearly departed husband,

Past experience, wouldn’t allowed me to weep at his grave

My lack of dispassion and willful stubbornness;

Did I really love him, did I really forgive him?

Maybe it was the disrespect, I couldn’t forgive,

The truth is quite different. Forgiving an offense empowers the offended. It is to a man’s glory to overlook an offense (Proverbs 19:11)



I would look at his picture on my refrigerator, and I love him and I hate him

In that same moment, we are surely bedmates

My distance craving, my longing to be held tightly throughout the night.



If a person can fulfill needs for companionship, love, *** or mating, there is a greater chance that the other person will fall in love with him or her.

I have done all of this, and came out the loser, all the time

Love is not for me.  loneliness is my captive

I know, I know, I know, loneliness need not to have the final words

A good poem is a flash back  

To the ****** days we spend in bed

With that someone who knew what he was doing,

When we called out, they middle name,

“Oh God, oh ****, who would believe, you had

Christen him and name him on the same day.

They too in that moment had forgotten they true identity.



We never learn from our past,  

flashback, alerts us, and those who cannot remember the  

Past are condemned to repeat it.

A good poem, can only do one take

As someone, somewhere might yelled cut!

A good poem has taught us that

None of us is safe until all of us is safe  

For the next ten years, during this pandemic  

Take action, control those raging hormones,

And ugly man, might seem handsome,

But nothing to back it up with,

When, the blood rushes to one's brain:

Don’t be smitten by the lying tongue;

A proud look, a lying tongue, and hands that shed innocent blood,

What Love commands the train fulfills*,

The six thirty bounds to Coney Island

Where the green Ubers awaits the passengers

Morning greetings, (Urdu) of few words, were the



Pakistan, rules Mermaid Street with the neon green

Were too mama? where too, two dollars:

A repeat routine for most of us,



Whether you’re a morning person or a night owl, we all start our day at some point. And we all seem to start it differently. (Kevan Lee)



Five forty showers, get dress out the door before six a.m.

Grab the garbage, and walk three to the subway,
where love commands the train fulfills, which lessened  

My morning depression until midday, (who control whom)



Why was I born, why am even here, what is my personal worth?

Timeless question, who would remember me, when I am gone?

The train, the cabbies, would the streets miss my dragging feet?

Self-observation, is it worth a Newyork minute of whom will miss us. (really)

Void, void, void, void, void, void, void, and more void,

Just allowed the few that might to do some adjustments

For the sake of remembering me, for the sake of losing my car fare,

For the sake of not receiving, my monthly fees, and T-Mobile

you definitely would, release me from my grandfather plans:



Today, I sit in silence, away from all sounds, only the sounds

Of a keyboard, and my heartbeat, as the mouse goes click, click

For the sake of remembering is that a poet is only good at recollecting, reflecting, and making his audience believes in his words: