WALK INTO SILENCE

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My Best Trade

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I'm trading sticks of cigarette for a poem Bottles of beer for a few more Whiskeys make me forlorn Why not a few more poems So I scribble and scribble some more I'm trading my loneliness for lines Rhymed or rhymeless, why should I mind When the please the eyes and tickles the mind I sure will memorize and mimic them like a mime So I'm still scribbling on this torn paper of mine I'm trading my hearts pain Trading it for a paper and a pen Like a painter ready to paint I deep my petite paint brush in a bowl of paint Dap dap, little dots, strokes and dashes as I dare to paint Little by little the whole picture is becoming plain I'm trading all love's tears Tears shade in secrecy for a poem shared publicly Though seemingly absurd but poems brings this inconceivable peace. So I'm scribbling and scribbling my way to serenity. I trade it all for a piece of poem I may not have made the point But I've washed clean my plough And starring at ...
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A PEOPLE LIKE THAT

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Born to the certainty of dying Then where is the reason for trying? Striving to keep and guard this already lost life Is it the yearning to live for just another day? Or an effort to evade death? - A lost battle even from the onset - Or the fear of death itself? I say, it is because man was not meant to die But looking at the cards in hand Die we must Then why all the fuss? We are a people like that. The tricks life on us He puts us into different skin tone Different tongues And places us on different points of the earth The subtle differences that have turned us into gladiators Earth the arena And life the emperor. Our clashes and wars His entertainment Our sorrow and pain His pleasure The differences that should've been complementary Have brought us immeasurable kaos and calamity We are a people like that. Imagine a world where everything is the same Gender, human beings only dividing line But everything else, the same Same skin tone and tongues Same...
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THE ROAD HOME

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Be gone for a day, Be gone forever, The road home never forgets. She is sometimes beautiful, and sometimes ugly  And sometimes she is both Depending on the memories she holds She changes her shade like a chameleon She is fair with her scores In both our wins and losses Like the sun shines on all irrespective Turn in her direction The nostalgia will pour in Like the intoxication of a cheap strong rum The road back home Is the only road that leads us back to our thoughts
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