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