It is a warm summer day
with a clear blue sky
and white fluffy clouds floating by;
I am
walking down my home street
and enjoying the cool summer breeze
blowing over my body
cooling me down;
I am enjoying
the sight
of front-yards with tall trees and shrubs of many varieties,
the sight of two storey mansions with designer architecture,
the sight of neatly mown lush-green front lawns;
I am enjoying
the auditory experience
of a quiet peaceful neighbourhood,
with a gentle breeze rustling leaves on trees
and birds tweeting
around my quiet home street;

I feel
Nice-Neighbourhood-Happy.

I'm dying by hunger
he said
and I remembered about
all these ruined places
and its children
and their mothers
no
you're not dying

you just still don't have enough capacity
to realize
that you don't need a new jacket
and shoes
you own muddy ones in the hallway
and the others you don't like
*******
give me
a better reason

and try
to swallow your dreams
and keep them
in a digestive tract
to the last second
of not giving a ****

as the ones who are trying to fall asleep now
on the pillow of tomorrow's death

I was the king with no throne,
             I only sat upon the curb..

My crown was my neighbourhood,
   and all that did surround...

I'll never disrespect my brethren,
             for they stand by my side,

behind me, in front to protect we, us
           all from the idioms of who


think that this land is free verse,

     never this is a rhyme of colours
           that'll write that this is our

street and others neither may stand

                              or bellowing there

right to stand on land sacred to our
                                                  families.

we don't fight with swords,
           but our metal will pierce like
cut from a far we are the knights of
                                our neighbourhood.

I don't sit on a thrown, on a kerb I gaze
              around I wear no crown...

But everyone knows I'm king and ill
           bury metal in you like a sword
pieced the stone.

Like that you'll be cold,
metal not pulled but
                          rather calved out..

Neighbourhood bash
In a flash
We dashed
We splashed
Garbage thrashed
and cached
We conquered trash
To earn our sash
See you at the rehash

Glowing Windows embedded into mouldy brick walls
Ivy climbing the gutters of neighbourhood roofs
Skies becoming burnt out like charred blackened fields

Tall spiny trees project shadows onto the road below
Leaves curl up to receive some weakening light from above
A formation of sputtering cars cling to each turn they decide to make
Cloudy milky light bounces off faulty windows that exhale the aroma of somebodies impending supper

A heavy truck manoeuvres itself into the blistered bitumen horizon
Dry deflated branches make obscene gestures towards passers-by
Gardeners rummage through their bags as they near the end of their working day
Their faces filled with an expired enthusiasm for breathing

Parked hunks of metal pelted with dead itchy leaves
Windscreen wipers hold fragile twigs down against grotty neglected glass
Chain-link fences link disparate housing and the sleeping people within
Some dispirited unsatisfied psychos gaze up as they catch a moving bus

Smoky Incense billows down from some apartment balcony
The air becomes cold and sharply fills these ordinary streets
Engine sounds try to supress the divine quietness
They only merge into it

Now the stars are out and about
Bright specks waddling in an aerial pool of dark blue
You turn the key and walk through the front door

My neighbourhood
hungry pigeons,
small supermarket,
Turkish kebab shop.

People with faces
of a lonely ghosts,
dull cars, loud airplanes
bugging their own noise.

Fake beggars, cafe
full of strangers' talk,
grey skies above me,
ex-paradise lost.

My neighbourhood,
weekend market's stalls,
park, always empty,
closed down gospell hall.

My new neighbour depression,
lives in a house rotting in the ground,
scarred wood torn away and roof tiles scattered,
with garden flowers withering away,
trees cracking at the slightest move of the wind.
Ever since he moved in a storm cloud
hangs low over the neighbourhood,
soaking my lawn and treading on my grass.
My neighbour depression
throws heavy stones to crack my windows,
leaves untidily scrawled messages of hatred in my letterbox,
leaving a trail of black paint up to his backgate.
My neighbour depression
takes advantage of my protection of thin walls,
and each day attempts to crash through them like a wrecking ball,
slowly dimming my lights and making shadows in my room
appear darker and bigger.
My neighbour depression
walks down the street like a black hole,
******* out all the sound around him.
And my neighbour depression
is starting to make me forget what my voice sounded like.