The Nightmare

The guns began blazing 

screams rent the air as soldiers 

and civilians 

took cook 

I took cover with soldiers 

Behind soldiers - sorry 

it felt safer there, 

But unbeknownst to me, 

Our backs were exposed 

like the butts of African children

a fugitive appears and shoots me in the shoulder 

there is not too much blood,  

yet I am numbed

the soldiers urge me to move on 

where? I did not know, 

I follow them 

it dawns on me that it was not a bullet that hit me 

it was something else 

my hand develops numerous blisters 

one soldier tells to see treatment 

or else my hand would be amputated 

I go to a nurse 

But she was not a nurse 

she was a prank artiste. 

And I woke up

On Sobriety

 Two weeks you say? You are full of jokes

Staying sober isn’t a thing you are good at nowadays

With a little jingle in your pockets,

It always a full on drinking spree

It used to be nice then

But now you’ve began abusing people,

And groping women

You were not made of that stuff?

What happened?

You know what happened,

Staying sober is not a thing you are

Too good at anymore

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