Skip to main content

A Girl Called Mirage

How your lips move with words;
you savour each syllable
and I,
Can't help but wonder how they'll taste
If I picked them off your tongue.

How light dances in your eyes;
like mischievous spirits
dancing around fires
and I,
long to peer deep
till I'm singed, moth to fire.

How your hair shines in the sun;
stubborn, jet black
cotton candy
Halo crowns you,
and I,
stretch an arm
In worship, you Gaia incarnate.

How raindrops run down your curves;
Leaving traces on your
Dark Chocolate skin,
And I,
watch in envy their sensual descent.

How your aura holds attention;
like shimmering light
in pitch black night
and I,
a Deer,
Blinded in headlights
Spellbound before deadly impact.

How your presence holds me captive;
like all things that lead men astray,
desire trumps reason,
and I,
into the desert, follow a mirage,
knowing fully, this won't end well.

*****April 16*****

Popular posts from this blog

They Don't Teach us how to Grieve

They don't teach young men How to grieve.

Be a man, Stand strong, Men don't cry, They say.
That's how we are made.
Somewhere, There's a conveyor belt Constantly chucking out Boys, with pent-up toxic emotions, Shoulders hunched under the weight of society's expectations.
There's a piece of wood in my mouth I bite hard on it praying I don't black out As I saw off another weakness I saw in the mirror.
Something about Better to enter the Kingdom With one arm...
I don't know...
A brother died today,

Bats at 37

When bats at 37 take to flight, At a quarter past four Or, whatever time Accra heralds the night,

When bats at 37 take to flight, For me, there's not a more beautiful sight Of creatures, imagined or real, That lay claim to these glorious skies.

When bats at 37 take to flight, With fevered screeches that punctuate the night When by sheer numbers they darken the skies And, below, people of a superstitious disposition Can not be bothered, I am reminded that, Given enough time all things cease to be strange.

When bats at 37 take to flight, Devoid of vibrant plumes unlike most things that fly, Rising like Legion and the hordes of hell, In defiance of extermination attempts, Above the Hospital in elusive figurativeness, Haphazardly, in sync, over constipated traffic There is not a doubt who owns the peppered night.

When bats at 37 take to flight;

Finding God

The inexplicable
Is proof there's a God.

This, for me,
Is where doubt began.
For if we know today
More than we did yesterday
Then, God is
a constantly contracting chamber of ignorance.

Now if it is so
And God is the Lord of gaps
Then men of religion
May be forgiven
For their unrelenting battle
Against knowledge;
The God killer.

But if God is
the beginning of wisdom
And his people perish
For lack of knowledge
And if we know today
More than we did yesterday

Then it stands to reason
That the God to believe in
Is an ever expanding explosion of knowledge.

I have no faith
In the God of gaps
For God must be Omniscient
And ignorance is not
This, for me, is where doubt ends.

*****April 22, 2017*****