For in the algorithm of their minds lay deep strategies,
But it's a maze to a sepulchre,
a colonial mind with many rooms,
where other men are lorded to their satisfaction
For they stand in the courts, and declared to be like children
their smiles far from sinister,
but their minds create a haven like hell to those around,
though they decorate the sky like the western sun, they burn the roses with their palms like the Libyan desert sun
For their dearth of love, they carry out vengeance on the free spirited, they carry a ******* staff of justice,
they are the town criers declaring who ought to be colourful,
they crown the underserving and deserving,
their tongue a tidal wave of envy,
slander chokes their breath, loneliness fills their temple,
hatred distills their roller coaster pain.
Now I understand why roses wither,
But even the crumbs of love in these cactus hearts
will be taken away.
- Ola Bajo
