The snow blanket the earth
but it would never covers the ocean
It became a curse of the sea
So, it stays on the beach
Like a dog on a leash
11
To hell with the night
It’s just darkness over- powering the daylight
When men are force to close their eyes
And dream of the events of the passing day.

111
Liars who called themselves lovers
Will never come clean
It’s a permanent tattoo
Concocted in their brain
The road to recovery for them is
Systematic and strategic process
For them it is a hunter’s game

1V
You have taken everything in one’s strides
The time sheets, the lunch hours
You have become the employer
Twelve hours prisoners of the time clocks
V
Last night I heard Nana voice
She said that I worry too much
And get little sleep
I smell hibiscus in my room
That old familiar fragrance scent still lingers

But her words became self-soothing
She said, let’s go to the kitchen
And make a banana bread
Worries is for the rich man

VI

The poor man display his graffiti on cities buildings
no admission, no fee
priceless art crimes or
the best of a simple criminal mind

High art or low art
Eyes of a rich man
Or the eyes of a fool