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OUR    POVERTY   HAS   COLOUR

Alexander K Opicho
(Eldoret, Kenya; aopicho@yahoo.com)

Most illusive and elusive
Like the devils of Congo forest
Is the impish poverty
Permeating all seals with vicious wily
Into the midst of callous humanity
Biting country men and country women
With carnivorous dentalities so ruthless
Putting man to a forlorn shame
As the wife looks in desperate flaggerbastation
Putting matriarchal womenfolk to humiliation
As the expectant sire wallow in the askance of looks
Condemning communities to status ad absurdum initio
Thinning man from man, culling woman from woman
Eating flesh by flesh social koprpers of man
Eating the native flesh in the farms of Brazil
Tearing the ***** steak into ghetto lacerations of Chicago
Whizzling sombre morning tunes to the Zulus in the black tundra
Cementing pale casted clusters for the Patels of India
Commanding suave drills to poor (wo) menfolk; left! Left! Left! –abouuuuturn!
With its accomplice Mr. Hunger son of starvation, they both command drills
For black factory workers, Maids and gravediggers to dance
Watchmen, thieves and prostitutes to match
In the hinterland of Africa all the riff-raff in deep despair
Dance in a tandem to the irritating drills of the duo;
You come on! Left! Right! Left! Right!—fowaaard match!
Backward match! Left! Right! Left! Right! Sharpp uuuuuuuturn!
The duo communiqué; Go home and wait for your pay announcement.

Surely; what colour is our poverty?
Ksjpari Aug 2017
A Family that will always save you bloat
Is none other than Patel’s says my throat.
Boasting? No, really. They are like a tote
Fill whatever from them, they won’t denote.
What a family, what a love, what an antidote.
Whenever you go to them, they are remote
To say “No” – a habit which they wrote
For them – gentle, docile and elegant coat.
All children – Deep, Arti, Nand, Dhir are raincoat.
With their parents and cousins ride a boat
Of success; all creative and ready to devote.
I never forget this family. This a way I emote.
I am developing a new style of writing poetry where ending words of a line rhyme with one another, at least in last sound. I named it Pari Style. Hope readers will like it. Thanks to those invisible hands and fingers which supported and inspired me to continue my efforts in my new, creative, artistic and innovative “Pari” style. Thanks for your inspiring, kind, soft fingers.
keke malinga May 2014
The Love so sweet, so tender
Trust me I would surrender
If I was at war for your heart
Your heart
That would be mine
I guess its fine
Because you are mine

The hours we spent together
Those memories could last me forever
But forever is not guaranteed
And you and I will forever be

Can I be lost in your arms
Even though I hate the smell of your lip balm
Tracing your palm
For your love, I would cause harm

You are my knight in shining armour
Maybe the patels of a flower
Could state how much you love me
Loves me, loves me not
Maybe we could tie the knot
And be together to infinity and beyond

The love the way I feel when I'm around you
Trust me, I'd be a fool
If I hadn't fallen for you
You make life a happy place
The features on your face
Are something I love to trace

I love your smile
I could walk a thousand miles
For you and your love
For you are my one and only love

I love the sparkles in your eyes
No money in this world can buy
The love that you and I share
I wouldn't dare
To let go of you

You are my love, you give me the love that I always wanted
Walking in the early morning
Before the sun showed up
With dew in my hair
While birds are not yet flying
It’s so calm out here
I can smell the freshness
of wet grass and clean  air
Heavy scent of blossoms
Waiting for the sun to rise
To open all the patels to become
a colorful paradise
I welcome you beautiful new morning
with happiness and gratitude.


Shell ✨🐚
Always be thankful for the new day.
Unknown stranger Jan 2020
Her eyes are like wine
I want to drink it,
Her lips are like patels of rose
I want to feel it,
And in her smile
I want to make my shelter,
Oh! I had lost myself in her.
Her hairs are like feathers
I want to play with them,
And when she talks
I want to listen to her forever,
Oh! I had lost myself in her.
You are my entire poem
I m just a metaphor of yours

— The End —