I am Bitter With Time

I have seen days that have 

melted 

right in my hands, scarring me 

as though the were acids, 

freaking acids of time 

crawling under my skin, 

craving for my soul 

I have seen time wedge itself 

across the tightest places, 

a bond of people who loved each other 

acids of separation, 

excuses that did not make sense 

and when love is gone 

you discard pride and rudeness 

and replace it with some undying love 

I am not bitter with time 

I am bitter that it doesn't wait for me 

I want it to stop for a while 

I want it still, yet keep me breathing 

because I want to resume living sometime 

later 

The Hungry

 the hungry and proud sleep 

with grumbling stomachs, 

the hungry and poor are not choosy 

their stomach can digest any kind of bacteria, 

hungry and poor rummage through bins 

looking for anything remotely edible 

they compete with flies in the food chain 

the hungry, and broke 

oscillate between hunger and pride 

the pangs bite their consciousness 

of course they have to blame someone 

or some force in the universe 

On A Stroll

 a careless sense of purpose 

has been fixed upon my set of wheels 

I moving, or seeming to move 

as though its against my will 

a careening off the road

I am trudging uphill 

I am moving although it does matter 

that I am moving 

because I have fixed a careless of purpose 

on my set of wheels 

I hurtling downhill one minute 

the next I am trudging uphill 

The Night Howlers

 before, long nights such as these, 

times when you feel like banging 

your head against the wall, 

we'd try to escape our misery 

and seek refuge in loud places 

among unfamiliar faces 

peering through the hazy cigar smoke 

sip our drinks and engage in solitary thoughts 

or strike a conversation with strangers 

strangers who will solicit drinks from us 

those nights are gone 

the nights are filled with thugs in blue 

and curfew 

we are stuck dark things 

like grumpy wives 

and thoughts 

and walls 

and several unlived dreams 

the night howlers scream

but no one hears their screams 

because coronavirus rules the air 

the seas, and the scenes 

Another Sad Poem

 yawn, 

nurse your fatigue 

it is not unique 

you are just chasing the same old dawn 

drown, 

or dive in to save your sorrows 

the sun rise with its blows 

until shadows stop being drawn 

yawn, 

and write another sad poem 

it wasn't you verse them 

you just were afraid of dawn 

You Lay Cold In A Freezing Heart

 you lay cold on the floor of his heart 

teeth clattering amid pleas

of love 

Yet every morning, he poured cold water 

all over you

knowing how much the water made everything 

worse  

You pleaded him, promised him cute and intelligent 

kids 

But he heard none- he was deaf 

But, then, you survived 

And when you remember how you 

thought you couldn't 

nothing seems impossible 

because there is always a light 

even in the deepest recesses of sorrow 

Stories Beneath Silence

 the stone throws a hard stare, 

like how it has known for staring 

staring at vagaries of weather 

weathering

a slow disintegration into another 

form 

or formlessness 

or something to gives promise to other lives 

yet, for now, the hard stone cold stare 

revealing nothing, not even blinking 

only a laughter that hides 

stories beneath its silence 

a stone cold silence 

Prisoner

 

The confining prison grills 

are a welcome refuge to prisoners 

for they are freer than he 

than he whose mind has enslaved him 

he is guilty of a cruel fate 

a fate that's yet to come 

and the ticking seconds 

crawl closer to an indefinite execution date 

the fall walls of his room 

seems like a solitary confinement 

no soul to talk to, no walks in the sun 

and he is his own cruel prison guard 

his life is one long prison stretch 

except that the routes of escape are open  

yet he makes no attempt at it 

because he will shoot himself - or take poison 

The Lies That Became The Only Truth

 He said he would

But he was up to no good 

He'd become adept at lying 

And you'd become adept at believing 

You sat by the corner and cried 

Tears were a thing you couldn't hide 

He was once that perfect soul 

A soul that  made you whole 

And the lies broke you to pieces 

The promises came yet he never ceases 

He become distant and aloof 

And unreliable like a leaking roof 

The lies became him, 

They become his constant theme 

The lies became his only truth 

He is silent like a derelict phone booth 

Do Not Give Me Teenagers

 He steps into the local

A little inebriated, therefore a little animated 

He sees his 'friends' 

Friends by the virtue that they commune together 

to have fun destroying their livers with cheap liquor 

'It's peaceful here,' he says 

His wife sells groceries across the road 

And there are three teenagers in the house 

running wilder than the wildebeests in the Mara 

He gulps his vodka, wipes his mouth and scans the area 

and declares that he has three teenagers 

He says he cannot buy a single bread 

because they think it is the biggest joke 

after democracy in the African continent 

He whines about his job, 

his wife, the government, the cosmos, aliens 

then leaves for his house - 

a place he can't stand a second of sobriety 

Because of the marauding teens 

By God, it made me think 

please do not give me teenagers 

I want to drink for other reasons 

than teenagers - insatiable teenagers 

who have since ceased finding anything humorous 

in the old bones that made them who they are 

The Puffing Woman

 She had an intimidatingly rough face 

a face that would 'rough someone up' - 

but she was cool, and humble like your grandma

when she is in a jolly mood

But she smoked cigar after cigar 

Often tilting her head at a slight angle 

as she puffed out, as though she is near 

a ground-breaking thought 

a philosophical thought that can change mankind 

like the nothingness of our existence 

But all she ever does is puff away 

staring into a blank distance 

an unreachable canvass of hers where she draws 

beautiful yet obscure dreams of our meaningless existence 

She sips her beer, too, 

in between puffs too

she is at peace with her demons 

You can tell that - everybody can tell that 

And she does not care about what you think 

she cares about her cigar, and her beer 

and the things that make her seek refuge 

in her blank, unreachable canvas of hers 

a canvas that rejects the notion of carcinogens 

she'll probably tell you that nobody knows what causes cancer 

she is at peace, 

she is peace with her cigar 

Happiness

Really,

What is happiness?

Happiness is a made up word

So that sick and deranged people

can sell drugs to others

happiness is unattainable

happiness is the biggest fallacy

happiness is gaping grave

ever ready to swallow up its next victim

happiness can happen on a whim

it can happen on a wheel

happiness is not a destination

neither is it a journey

happiness was not meant to exist

it is a made up word

so that we can keep buying things we don’t need

I Don’t Know If I Miss You

 sunsets

beaches

a thousand songs

songs that made flowers bloom on our feet

a million memories

shredded to the tiniest bits

so much that I do not know

if I miss you

 

shadows

long walks

a thousands laughs

that made time seem to stand still

feel with a gaping hole

inside a heart that forgot how to love you

 

regrets

a bucket of chilled regrets

that calm my sick heart, sometimes

a bucket of chilled regrets

that I sometimes drink with vodka

I shall not forget

For the memory of you cannot be

drowned

for you are the storm itself

the hurricane

deserts,

and rainforests

plenty and scarcity

you were all the extremes

the extremes that I fervently loved

 

I will miss you on some days

Days I will wonder what you are up to

Some Days

 Some days drag its feet like a marauding

army of sloths

Some days the emptiness is as palpable

as voids cane feel

some days taste like a cocktail of frustration

and bad decisions

some days suck energy as though they were high

power suction machines

that drain blood out its victims – those sadistic days

 

and then those days often appear normal

the sun is as punctual as usual

even when one does not want it to rise

it has the same potential as good days

and they sneak upon you liked skilled predators

and rob of the will to live and the will to even survive

and from that point onwards,

everything is a downward spiral

until you hit rock bottom

those days

 

they say such days only exist in the head

they don’t say it exists in the calendar as well

they don’t say some days are better off inexistent

some days are better of unlived

like the day you were born

The Pounding Thoughts

I lay awake at night 

and listen to the clinging thoughts 

clang! clang! 

hammers pounding away 

same intensity as yester year 

and years before that 

and the years after 

cling! clang! 

thoughts pounding away 

chipping away nothing 

just competing with the slow clock 

tik tok!

The sickening slow ebb of time 

nauseates 

A Thousand Years

 wait, 

the last feel of your touch 

has been devoured by maggots 

it's skeletal, 

lonesome

in a grave of oblivion 

wait, 

the last words you spoke 

have frozen

sculptured into a knife 

that cuts my soul into smithereens 

I used to indulge in the pain 

It was a welcome refuge 

wait, 

what are are waiting for?

I am waiting for the sun to freeze this dawn 

once again 

and make a sculpture of all your memory 

a knife of sorts

to cut me all over again 

for I am whole 

The Uncaring Universe

who are we to the big universe?

are we tiny specks of sands

are we giants?

does the universe laugh at our 

exaggerated importance

does it get buoyed by our indifference? sometimes 

Is it patiently waiting to trample us 

into oblivion?

In the meantime, give me a beer 

it is the only way I can become one 

with the universe..

The Alarm

The walls, silent walls listen 

to the songs of your angst 

the darn walls do not even applaud 

they sit still, not even apprehensive 

that you will breakdown -

the darn walls 

the mosquitoes fly by with sick oblivion 

seeking your blood as they you are their ranch 

and their annoying whir - god their annoying whir 

sickens you to your stomach 

they rob you the little sleep you are bargaining for 

the sleep you've bargained for six hours 

and now dawn is here

the alarm does not raise you -

you raise the alarm 

and the alarm snoozes you 

because you are tired, 

tired of thinking - tired of dawns

that bring nothing but weary dreams 

I Do Not Bother

I do not get it - I do not even want to contemplate

How can someone's life choices offend me?

I go for the superficial - the one you have chosen to show 

The rest is between a secret and darkness 

I do not want to know 

The deep is between you and your gods 

Show me what I need to know 

I will not go for the hidden meaning 

You are not a poem 

or a work of art 

I do not care who you are when you slip 

into the darkness 

It just is not worth my time

Once I Rode Your Kiss

Once, I rode on your kiss 

to lands, I must confess, 

lands of bespoke pleasure 

Just why did I mess?

Once, your smile lit my soul 

and your smile echoed in my head 

long after you were gone 

then, I felt alive - now I am dead 

Once, your steps led you to me 

and mine to you - we often met halfway 

then we indulged in ourselves 

now, there is not much to talk or say 

A Bachelor's Evening

 aromas of freshly cooking meals 

assail the lone man in his crib 

children wail, 

mothers scold errant children 

tired mothers scold their children 

threatening - as a form of affection - 

to thoroughly clobber them 

still usurps the night 

and the bachelor, roused by hunger, 

prepares a shoddy meal 

everything else is still

the world is still 

except the existential worries 

Flee From These Arms

 Flee from these arms 

They are no longer familiar 

about how you should be touched 

Tiptoe out of this heart of mine 

It has forgotten how to love 

In the same pure way it did before 

Run away from this mind of mine 

It has become a land mine 

It looks calm but beneath stoking disaster 

Before You Lose Your Sense of Humor

 the whirl wind is coming

it will cast aside everything that's funny 

mortals will find everything sensitive 

or inappropriate

lets laugh at our follies 

before crooked mortals foment in them 

and grow new extremely sensitive skins 

as sensitive as their loins 

lets laugh at our intellect 

or lack thereof - or lack thereof 

when we elect leaders 

let's laugh before it becomes a crime to 

have a dissenting view 

laugh at your girlfriend's bulbous nose 

laugh at her poor cooking skills 

before she stops finding it funny 

before you become an eyesore

 

Lands of the Free

 The soft wind kisses your soft cheeks 

You raise your hands as if they are wings 

Because they are wings

And because you are ready to fly away 

To distant lands of the free 

The tinkling cold water kisses your dainty feet 

You are ready to walk on water - like Jesus 

And seek shores that promise greener pastures 

You are not afraid of snakes anymore 

May be one will offer you an apple 

For you are done with these damn lemons 

Bargaining for Hope

 Did we ever have to bargain 

for a shred of hope? 

Did we ever have to look at 

the distant horizon, 

And plead with our calloused hands?

Yes, once, twice...

four...seventy times 

And we still do 

We are bargaining for a millionth of hope 

A grain of hope 

So that the nights does not seem longer.

And the days harsher 

Did we commit unforgivable sins?

Maybe...

May be we lied to merchants of hope 

Or angels that ferried hope 

Or we kicked poor scrawny animals 

That came with good tidings 

We do not know 

Hence we toil

Maybe today we our children won't sleep hungry 

The River

 It still flows, 

a river seeking vain shores 

sleek in its meanders, 

over rocks, 

flowing, 

an endless chuckle of water, 

uniting with the bird's songs 

songs that sound like distant dirges 

it flows like a vulture, 

circling above - waiting 

waiting for an imminent death. 

Against Will

The sun pours its light on unwanted dreams

Scorching it, withering its sweet bloom

The scents of the dream slowly recede

To oblivion, or withdrawn by gods in charge of scents

Always – always – against one’s will

Nothing New

 What's new under the sun?

Isn't what you consider new 

existed thousands years ago?

Isn't you new love someone's ex?

Or a person he or she grew tired being around 

So tired that their breathing irritated them

Nothing is new, 

Not you, not me 

We are all second hand goods 

whether we like or not 

Because someone like you has existed in the course of time

Live your life - it was preordained