Alexander K Opicho
(Eldoret, Kenya;[email protected])
With audacious openness
Let me accept substantial lot of men folk
When it comes to efforts in love,
Most are misfortunate.
Every time they dare to built
Affiliative bonding for love
With beauties beheld
By their limited eyes
The invincible whirling spell
Of fortune’s fool
Beguile them forlornly
Down the social abyss of time,
I and my type not an exception to the club
Of the guys who swallowed misfortune
Like the dog of Theodore erotokorostos
Does to a piece of bone
In poetic obscurantism
Of the corruptible simple souls
Obtaining their pathetic lot from ***** and wine,
In the first trial I chanced on a neurotic peasant,
In the second trial I chanced on turn to be henpecked,
On the third trial I chanced on a beautiful paranoid,
My fourth trial chanced me a deadly stooge,
My fifth trial gave me the worst blow
As I forlornly chanced on the time’s public commoner,
My sixth trial makes me chicken
Had it not been poetic audacity
That makes me brave to chew in public
The lot of my misfortune as I recall
The bitter sweetness of chancing on
A beautiful epileptic kleptomaniac,
My tired trial in the waned efforts
Chanced me a lesbian with insignificant bisexuality,
O! I now tire off from misfortunes of love
With a last black chance on a neurotic money-maniac,
And this is the silent lot of men
In their usual efforts to fulfill their dreams of love.
Feb 28, 2014
Feb 28, 2014 at 9:43 AM UTC
Alexander K Opicho
(Eldoret, Kenya;[email protected])
With audacious openness
Let me accept substantial lot of men folk
When it comes to efforts in love,
Most are misfortunate.
Every time they dare to built
Affiliative bonding for love
With beauties beheld
By their limited eyes
The invincible whirling spell
Of fortune’s fool
Beguile them forlornly
Down the social abyss of time,
I and my type not an exception to the club
Of the guys who swallowed misfortune
Like the dog of Theodore erotokorostos
Does to a piece of bone
In poetic obscurantism
Of the corruptible simple souls
Obtaining their pathetic lot from ***** and wine,
In the first trial I chanced on a neurotic peasant,
In the second trial I chanced on turn to be henpecked,
On the third trial I chanced on a beautiful paranoid,
My fourth trial chanced me a deadly stooge,
My fifth trial gave me the worst blow
As I forlornly chanced on the time’s public commoner,
My sixth trial makes me chicken
Had it not been poetic audacity
That makes me brave to chew in public
The lot of my misfortune as I recall
The bitter sweetness of chancing on
A beautiful epileptic kleptomaniac,
My tired trial in the waned efforts
Chanced me a lesbian with insignificant bisexuality,
O! I now tire off from misfortunes of love
With a last black chance on a neurotic money-maniac,
And this is the silent lot of men
In their usual efforts to fulfill their dreams of love.
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