Listen my dear daughter, to my first song of caution
Earmarked for you my wonderful sire, come and listen,
That tall old man with white hair all over his head
Standing over there is not good; he is gnomish in the mind
Be careful with him, he is not human in the heart
But a mermaid of Yoruba poetry, just like Thespis of Greece
Even the pecuniary psychopomp of Sweden gave him an accolade
His heart is selfishly full of avarice; he wants everything for himself,
Don’t recite him any of your poetry, lest he spells an abyss
Against your juvenile poetic talent, he will fool you with a gift;
A white sheep or a scarlet goat for your birth day anniversary
Please don’t take it or anything else from him, as nothing from him is genuine
But only machinations of evil spell aimed at mahyeming your talent
Finally to decimate your girlhood and life, this is my caution
For you dear little African girl.

Listen my dear little daughter, to my second song of caution
That short man in a Muslim gear loafing yonder, is suspect
The Muslim beret on his head is merely a smokescreen to aghastly behaviour
He is in no way an avatar of god of love and humane piety
He is a terrorist working with Boko Haram and Algaeda
He is an Alshabab that is bombing young girls in Mombasa and Nairobi
All over Kenya he has killed the young people; his long egret-white sari is not for holiness,
It is merely a nefarious sanctum of grenades, other tools of work in terrorism trade
His loudly prayers, body movements and pocket bursting monies are only a stunt
To have you kidnapped into death conduit, once you goof to join his courts,
His sanctimony is a total picaresque film, (s)heroes of terror the centerpiece
And thus, this is my caution for you dear little African girl.

Listen my dear daughter, to my third song of caution
Those tourists thronging our streets are deadly *** pets, they also skulk ****
Their handsome outlook is not a stamp to any good conscientiousness
They derive pleasure from poverty and *** tourism; they yearn to see a girl in poverty,
Often rarely will they help an African girl, out of milieu of beggarly squalorism,
Instead they go straight for the purse between your thighs,  
Regardless of the legacy they leave out of this lewdness, they are showy,
They regret not in their Byronic broadcast of *** and fatherless urchins in the poor streets
Foundation for their further poverty tourism, this is my caution for you dear little African girl.

It's nauseously living in a world full of nauseaous feelings while living is nauseating.

It's dying a thousand deaths while dying is a thing of terror, but dying being inevitable, while we wish we were dead.

It's a simple thing really, this thing called existing. Are we existing right now or are we yet to exist?

Humanity is tenasious. Yet, no one has any tenasion.

Aghaslty we sit, we stand, we walk, we dance, we lie. Aghastly, it's unimaginable, but we die.

With every beat drop of music she move her body
Not knowing what is actually happening around her
Sometimes you amalgamate yourself with the music
You ain’t comprehend torment which traumatize soul
What if pain was a person people have choked him out
Aghastly! pain is a venomous feeling and it feels like:
As, someone stabbed you multiple times in your heart;
Gladly the most fiddly and beautiful ***** of your body
There is a contention internal pains are way more hurting
But, to overcome all such ******* you need some therapy
People who choose music over drugs, alcohol and smoking
Are enrich people for sure so, tap your feet on the floor
Your liveliness of soul matters, dead soul with beating heart;
Means nothing they’re just imitating flesh with fake smiles

Standing on the podium, left fist clenching,
gripping tight, with all my might,
the dime,
spent each time, Phrygian magi, winks

No path this way, pray, tell. Where from 502?
Wall, fence, ditch, road.
Running away.
Breathing hard, *****
one way, being as how, this is the end,
the end of the road, that led to here,
breathe
today we act, as known invisible, devised
invisionate, volunteering to disappear here,
breathing
right before your TV eyes wall window,
breaks and I seep in to fill the empty here,
exhailanation -ah,
this side of glory, telling the story of
how do we learn how little we know here.

We listen and read, listen and write, listen
inhale,
ask new from old
sighing survivors of ever before,
prior known, post knowing, speaking in terms
I define, sift down to what I intend to think I said.
Let it out, and one
more ask …
Reasoning still, asking how to measure rations
in terms -ality allows… you can have my rations,
when I die. wwwishweknewish, proof,
breathe a reason
no more, wish away…you know,
know no less, wanna bet, free to try,
get it right, live or die, try, thinking I won, your
turn to take for granted, one more breath,
all you know, in a Phrygian riddle,
that cost me one silver dime,
no less.
Inspiration- al oh al ai knew.
Say it, say I said it, yes, I did,
so what I said, I pay for saying so
right,
say it proud,
and learn later the contention,
does turn hateful mean and angry as hell.
- proud comes with two sides
- I/We only have the good side showing
- swelling up, about to burst with knowledge

Aghastly outburst from a rotting old man I was,
yes, well aware the mirror-mind, was too intuitive.

But feelings, worked, feel like poor, in spirit, see
how might I be more as Uncle Tom was imagined,
ah, right, say rastaman brother mike, up in
portland, where some mad mobs form up,

signal fire, something dire this way come,
we be out of our mind, in anxious thought,
turning all these hairs to grey,
adding not the distance from my head to my heart,
a cubit, stretch --- here it come, the stretch
to the finish line… last unfamous word
- China 2022, who said… wu wei won
We won.
The imaginary final fun some religions find
their followers thrill to imagine, holy ones,
watching all the hated enemies, all those ones,
Jesus told those who heard him, command voice,
love your enemy,
if your enemy is a hungered, feed him, as you
feed you, love him, as you love you,
and watch the coals glow
knowing that love,
and leave me alone, or next time, I shall eat you,
alive.
and the spirit lifted,
I breathed. Yes,
sigh of relief, all in my head, but the bit you took
for too real.

Too much to ask, I ask my thinker,
as the we U ken U be, mostly me, the old guy,
who took out the mortgage on this rock,
Weyekin-assured, on a wink,
sittin' pretty, sazen in comfort, holy as hell,
after the day of visitation, was a real situation,

you were there, we all were there, you know
SYTF, to swear on Bible time then as now,
same
yesterday, today, forever, and
kpow, we made Y choose to let, leave, lief as well,
be
read on, right on,
anachronism in 1995,  ah, a time, dharma, then
that time, I wrote myself a note, asking if I know
- not karma, so, I said, no, dharma now
Ai knows for me, no need
for me to think you, too,
have access intuitively,
you had the internet all your life,
you know you
may as well take every test there ever was,
what is right
use of wrong.
That is the quest, today, not a question being, curious imp,
but this chore, Baruch at toil, am I - transangel-expresso,
¿Þorny issue, U said questions carry marks on a point,
a place, period in time upon which any thing that can
go wrong, shall, but, here
we are
so we know that was not the last word?
speaking from the dregs, at the bottom of the cup
of the day special, at the cost of your final breath,
taken out of queue, wish
a fisher of deeper realms
finds good reason to try
to be, whatever you wish,
once,
and should there be some lie forcing you to say,
you know,
choke, before you sayit, die before you lie,

and the curtain dropped, as it were today, anyway.