The hands
Of a craftsman
Of his skills
Of tendering jewelry
For her heart to tender

Her dream
Her imagination
Beyond the world of fantasy
In the care of a carpenter
Fixing her hot body
With his toe
Touching her every
Deep waters

She wanted a hand, that
Could deep it’s fingers
And trigger
Her waters
To irrigate her dry flower
For the season was right
For blossoming

A potter,, was all she wanted
To mould her body
Into the right shape
And caress her heart
She was hungry
But not in need of food
Too thirsty for water
Her thirst knew no quencher
Except for a climb
On a skycraper
Higher than the clouds
Off past the moon
Beyond the world of fantasy
All she wanted was,
A ride to pleasure


In her womb I laid
My perfect peace
Suckling on her never drying love
Precious than all the gems
On her cotton walls I held,strongly
Never did I want to let go
Of her abundant care

On her chest I laid
As I drank from the springs of life
That flowed from her two hills
The source of my life

Her chest my playing field
Ever lost in the jungle
A jungle,
Of love
She never let go
Neither did she give in
Each morning she prayed
That one day her lovely chick
Would grow into a cock
Not to sire many chicks
But to crow
Louder than all the crows

The Devil’s Dynasty

The devil’s dynasty*
The goddess of justice
must be deaf
Not to hear the cry of the innocent
As his sweat is wiped away
By the sadists in power
She must be deaf
To the screams
From the blood of lambs
Devoured by the wild world animals In quest for power

The goddess of justice
must be blind
Blind enough not to see
The rich, snatching from the beggar
And giving it back to the church
As a cleansing sacrifice
For their dirty ways
She must be blind
Blind to the unjust in courts
As the guilt go scot-free
And the innocent pay the price of
crimes they didn’t commit
The goddess of unjust
Must have been ordained
Over the queen of justice
In our absence
For we live in a world
Where fair and just
Became extinct
Red and purple must be
Included in prints
For black and white
No longer appeals the eyes
of the readers
Shedding blood the new normal
An old fashioned vocab
Racism on the trend
The goddess of justice
must be dumb
For the voices of unjust
Echo each other
As in the devil’s dynasty



She sank deeper, deep into an ocean
A savage dark ocean
An ocean of imagination
Her innocent mind was open, I could read
I could tell what her innocent thoughts hid
Her face talked her cavanous mind
Loud was her fantasy

She yearned for a hand
The hand of a carpenter
Yes, a carpenter, well versed in his handiwork
With the tools of a craftsman
Her broken soul to fix

I so her struggling, to pull her pieces back to shape
But too scattered they were, unable to reach

I heard the voice, of her screaming soul
Calling out for a diver
To rescue it
From the torture, of the many waters
That was stealing her precious life

Through her mind, I could see
The rage, ecstasy
Pushed to the bottom of the sea
The dark sea of death,a sea
With glaringly ugly waves

She needed a potter
With tender, loving fingers
To mould her back to shape
And help her swim to light
An illumination, that led to the streets of life
But no one cared to save the drowning soul
From the torture
Uknown to the torcher


She stayed still
Closing her eyes to the danger still
Giving life to her fruit,in the presence of a prey to kill
She should have given a fight but she didn’t feel
The danger as much as the pain she feel
Did she give a deaf ear to the still
Waters?,that even in the silence the river spoke
It shouted
It rambled
In silence,the river warned
Didn’t she sense the weirdo situation?
Maybe she fell for the false tranquility Created by the devil ready to devour
Maybe,she concentrated on the fruit,
Nine months of tire
And now the time had come
To see what she had longed for
Her precious fruit
As she celebrated her safe delivery
The serpent celebrated a lucky hunt
A mother and her fruit
With a single swipe he swapped them all
She should have given a fight,but she didn’t



The tree by the many waters
With leaves that never fall
I survive even in summer
Blossoming in every season

The ink
Of the pen that never runs dry
I mark beautiful impressions
On every paper
the pen
That writes life

The author of many destinies
Destinies I change
I foretell the future
Of even the darkest past

The light
That never grows dim
A hope to the lost
I illuminate even the darkest
Brighter than the jellyfish

The friend that sticks
Harder than the tick
I understand your pain
But keep it to myself
Remains closer even in doom

I,,the voice of the voiceless
I shout the loudest in silence
I express the deepest emotions
I keep many secrets
But disclose some
I am the storyteller
With mastery of all
The fables
I am the pen that never runs dry
I am poetry
The voice of broken souls


Strongly they fought
To protect their motherland, they created a fort
Just to earn their lives
They sharpened their knives
Ready to skin the whites
Who had raped their rights
Freedom they demanded
A foliage of their dreams
And freedom they owned
For power they thirst
To rule their unsatisfactory lusts
Lusts that later turned to greed
Greed that took away their foliage
And rendered them into bondage
Of their own brothers
Their dreams they killed
And lost their foliage of dreams
By spilling their own blood
A black domesticating another black
Out of superiority
Superiority brought by powers
Powers brawled for by many
But later owned by a few
Forever the black man is fighting
Fighting for that gem
Precious than all the gems
Freedom from our own slavery
Slaves of our cruel culture
Slaves of tribalism
Slaves of our own minds
Freedom is what we need
A foliage of our lost dreams



_BY simsamsarts_

In her they had a god
Their symbol of good
A light to their gloom
Who rained darkness at noon
The god of life during death
But still demanded for death during life
A living sacrifice
Fresh blood
An untouched heiress
A virgin
At her age of blossoming
Was all she wanted for a sacrifice
Blinded by their vehemence of selenophile
They stopped the flow of the river
By killing a daughter
Of the king
Just to appeace the moon
They gave away life for a dead body
Causing a generational halt
They dried a river that once flowed
To give life to streams
Just for their great love for their god
The moon


The beauty of a rose
Fascinates even the crows
On the sepals they land with claws
Leaving the petals with flaws
It’s juices they imbibe with force
The fragrance soon stinks
The stem splinter and the rose withers
Worthless it becomes
To the bin it’s thrown
And nobody cares ,to see it’s beauty no more

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