From the world unknown we came to self discovery.
We woke to a land our mothers had conceived us.
We came little and fragile, soft and tender.
The world we never knew received us to a people we never chose.
We came with tears in our eyes,
And echoes of sorrows in our voices ,
As joy and gladness of heart inexplicable prevailed the men and th women to whom we were born.

Our babies borne around back and front and side to side.
Little by little, day by day
We **** and eat and grow

Our innocent beings gradually were introduced to the world,
A world of pain and sorrow, a ruthless world.
A world of uncertainties, like children lost in wilderness as to Lord of the flies.

After so much love, care and tenderness, we began to know hatred, harsh words of tongues,
We were introduced to straight pains from rods of chastisement.
Some rods out of hatred born with envy,
Some out of love and correction.
We kept on growing like grass in summer, snow in winter.

We were sent to places where with our peers we learned to be better in our societies,
Primary and secondary to tertiary and to the universal world.
We learn to know ourselves our world and the way of tomorrow, it's uncertainties and unpredictabilities .
From the world we live free,
We were left to build our own,
The world of our own,
The beginning of our beings

1764

The saddest noise, the sweetest noise,
  The maddest noise that grows,—
The birds, they make it in the spring,
  At night’s delicious close.

Between the March and April line—
  That magical frontier
Beyond which summer hesitates,
  Almost too heavenly near.

It makes us think of all the dead
  That sauntered with us here,
By separation’s sorcery
  Made cruelly more dear.

It makes us think of what we had,
  And what we now deplore.
We almost wish those siren throats
  Would go and sing no more.

An ear can break a human heart
  As quickly as a spear,
We wish the ear had not a heart
  So dangerously near.

If I had a better memory
I would let those conversations lull me to sleep
And play that vocabulary in my mind like
A handwritten song
And there are a lot of things that make up a human mind
Components that reach all the way down into your ribcage
Through trembling hands and empty stomaches
But I intend to feel them all
One time,
A long time ago,
Someone used the word "frightening"
To describe the uncertainty
And burden
That comes with having complex emotions
That word is used as a scapegoat
To expunge yourself of the shadow of vulnerability
It takes hours to reach the tips of my fingers
With everything I feel
And maybe I write so much
Because I never remember exactly what people say
Or maybe it's because
I would like to remember it through rose tinted glasses
Either way
It stretches across miles
And I would use that scapegoat word
To describe what it feels like to be vulnerable
When you realize all of these pretend walls you've put in place
Can be destroyed with the right knock
And I think poetry
Isn't about that frightening feeling
It is about
Feeling it
Being frightened
Having emotion
And continuing
Where others would not

You're the fairest of all damsels my eyes have reflected,
Your beauty sings a million love songs.
The world stands to watch you fall asleep.
Kings desire you by their thrones.
But look me not straight in the eyes,
With the flame gaze of love,
I might follow shadows, I might fall into oblivion.
Whisper not in my ears with sweet sounds that weaken the heart,
I might smoulder,I might fall into listless pieces,
For I am not strong I have no hold over myself.

I am not the world you dream to live.
I am not the garden you long to plant,
I am not the treasure you long to plunder,

I am a man lost in my own world,
A man of different Creed, different city, from a different world.
Sing me not lullaby, I may not fall asleep,
I may not dream of you.

I am the land untapped,
A world unknown,
A city unbuilt.
Do not write to me the love poems,
I may not read them,
I may not understand.
My heart is tender and soft full of passion,
But not for your love to hold.

Look me not in the eyes with with the flame gaze of love,
Write me not the love poems,
Sing me not the love songs,
I may not return them, they might break your heart.

Take me not far away in your mind I might get lost,
I might miss the world.
Lead me not too far in your heart I might not find my way,
I might not see the lane.
I am the wandering soul on the path you lead.

You are the stage,
I am the thespian,
They are the world.
Let the world see the wordless wonder,
Give the earth sound to wonder,
And let me be the rhythm you sit to ponder.

You're the story untold, the love story everlasting.
In the dark deep blue moon,
when the evening wind says more than heard,
When my soul sings a million love songs, let your heart listen.

When the morning sun invites the sky brightens,
Do not let my heart beat alone,
Do not let me all alone lie alone.
Let me find you near me when I seek you in the morning.

I am the thespian,
You are the stage,the light in which I make a blaze,
They are the world and I am the voice,
You are the very song, the melodious song all sit to listen and wish no end.
And I am the story, the very last story unend.

It came as fresh as never
Serene, atmosphere hosting gratitude,
There is elation of love in the air.
There is sound of melody in songs,
It is the Era we laid haste and wait,
The dream we don't wanna wake.
She is the story we don't want to end.
The garden we leave not in haste,
She is the pride of her clan, as Joseph to the rest eleven.

I care for nothing that the aura of her presence,
I care for nothing than the gaze of her eyes.
I care for nothing than the echo of her voice,
She, with me is everything, nothing Matters to me.
Her children are desires of hearts beautiful and lovely full of reasons ,
Other women envy her,
She is not above, for pride is not her kind,
She is not beneath so non can trample on her Dignity.
It is JUNE!
It is JUNE!
It is June I love.
HAPPY JUNE TO THE JUNE CHILDREN.

We are critical.

We find flaws in
everything we see
because nobody
wants to write
about perfection,
even though sometimes
we wish we could just stay
staring into that
unblemished surface.

2. We are never satisfied.

We live our lives upon
mountains of
scrunched up
bits of refill and
ideas we gave up
trying to
express.

3. We never forget.

We write words about
eye contact made
three months ago
that we replay over
and over in our minds
even though it
stopped
being relevant.

4. We are fickle.**

Our emotions flash
from one
to the other
like strobe lighting that
disorientates us
until we feel as if
the world
will never be still.

5. We are exposed.

We don't know how
to keep our feelings
to ourselves so
we'll write them
down for
you to find
'accidentally'.

6. We are vulnerable.

We wear our
hearts on our sleeves
and won't lift a
muscle to fight back
if somebody tries
to break it
because we thrive
from the pain.

7. We will never stop.

We will never stop
feeling and
we will never stop
hurting,
we will never stop
breaking and
bleeding and
loving
even though the cycle
is endless
and we know what's
coming next.


We are addicted
to agony,
but we agonise
for the art.