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Thursday, 15 September 2016

Bedtime Epiphany of a Pining Heart

While I contemplated
On things that were and were not,
On why
Light retracts different, in your eyes,
Like rainbows randomly ricocheting
Off my intangible thoughts,

On why,
Words sound different, on your lips,
How you laugh,
How the sounds take a path,
Across infinite dreams,
Into all my incarnations,
Into all my iterations,
Into all...

I concluded
You are a figment
of my imagination,
You must be...

God is not so cruel
That he made a Heaven like you
Then condemned me
To the Hell of perpetual longing
Wanting, and never belonging...

*****September 14, 2016*****

Tuesday, 13 September 2016

Home, Not

If home
is where the heart is:

my heart knows
where it'd rather be.

my heart knows
Home will never be...

*****September 5, 2016*****

A Life Cut in Marble

I am
a life cut from marble,
Weathered in pain,
Scarred and jaded into perfection.

I am,

I am
the abominable manifestation
of all your lies and all my sins.

*****September 12, 2016*****

the Dying Gaul (Wikipedia)

Wednesday, 3 August 2016

Executioner's Business

I have not come here
To put back together
The Guinea fowl egg
That was broken on Her Majesty's sandals.

I am an Executioner.
The why and the how matters not,
It's the Who.

Those who in malice
Destroy good food in fits of pettiness
Then turn to mock the distended bellies
Of hungry children
Shall know no peace.

But today,
It is not scoffing egg breakers that vex me.

It is,
Those who in silence watched
While the dirty deed was done,
Unconcerned about hungry mouths,
Then proceeded to,
on the miscreants
behalf, plead for mercy,
It is they who stir my bile.

So may I not be blamed
When in swinging my blade
I, accidentally, chop off the heads
Of wailers who stand too close to the guilty.

The Executioner's job is urgent business
I have no time for the niceties
Of giving, those who loiter, final warnings.

***** August 3, 2016*****

Friday, 17 June 2016

High Octane Love

I don't love easy,
Or slow or even low.

I love hard and busy,
high octane,

when I crash,
I am a shipwreck,
Shattered past salvaging...

Untold Stories

The Antelope has its own story,
but it matters not to the Lion.

The untold stories of dead antelopes
is why gazelles run when lions come.

*****March 02, 2016*****

Sunday, 5 June 2016


We have become sheep,
fattened on campaign promises,
slaughtered at the swearing-in,
and feasted upon for four years.

we are reincarnated,
to be feasted upon the next four years.

*****December 17, 2015*****