Sunday, September 30, 2012

60 seconds.

On his way to Jerusalem
He found a blessing
A blue flower with golden branches
He named it Beauty, lowered his head and smelt it.
60 seconds. He missed it.
He looked up to see the bus leaving.
He hailed it. It didn't wait.
But on the road to success, there is always a bus every 60 seconds.

On his way to Jerusalem, the heat beat his skin
The sand parched his throat, he had no water to drink
he sat in the rear seats thinking;
'I got me a branch of Beauty'
If nothing else, he had something
Got off the bus took the next bus
Head up high, proud as hell
Content he made it this far

He got off in Jerusalem
Said his prayers
He got here
All in one piece
His Beauty had withered
The heat drained the life out of it
The sand, caked the petals
His throat tightened
Sadness
Eyes welled
He wept.

But he never cried so hard
Never cursed so much
Till the moment he looked up and realized
Someone else had mounted that throne
Jerusalem. Taken over. Just 60 seconds before.

Friday, September 28, 2012

Toil.

Constructor. Builder. Farmer. Handy this woman is, and her mind. She secretly carves it. While truth demands her gave she works on. Ever hard! Ever fast! Ever working on. Tilling at that soil. Hoping for her crop. Digging. Sowing. Begging for the rain. But she'd know she had better not wait. She'd best pack up and head on in, shut the door and close her blinds. If only shed looked truth in the face, she may have found out that the rain was heading out for her, not that crop. It was never meant to grow. It was never hers to yield.

Monday, September 24, 2012

Total disregard.

Sometimes you love
So suddenly
It's immature
Absurd. Demeaning, it is, that thing called love. Rude too!

Saturday, September 22, 2012

I am no pussy.

I am no kitty. 80 years life expectancy. Not divided, but chunked. One. Once. I am no pussy. I do not get the chance to say fuck it, I may have missed this hot one, but I'll ride the next one to ecstasy. I don't get to see my yesterday's. instead, I get revaluations. Pseudo redemptions and forgiveness of self and others. That's what I get. And this is alright, if all you have is a peep to hindsight. But with tomorrow in full view, blurry outlines and all, how dare I not ride this on? With no pays on my back and no wings to fly on, I'll remember that someone built the aeroplane and sometimes you have to make your own wings to fly. I am sorry, but your cane doesn't do mr. I am no puppy. I will not get another of these. I am sorry. I am too dark for your shadows where I would not glow. Let it be known that sink or soar, be that as it may, doing it was never enough see? I had to do it my way.

Monday, August 27, 2012

It will be.

I wait. Because I kNOw this will be huge. I am well aware that somehow someway at some specific time thats been destined to arrive sometime soon, I will arise, grab a an everyday box and words never before constructed this way. Words packing such deep meaning they were conceived in the black. See, I am certain. Like the wind in my face every day. Like my love for these words that are yet to arrive. Like my very awareness of my existence! I know! I am sure these words will come. But until then, I write about things not concerning. Concepts with no keys. Try opening nothing. Graze on the grass staring at the shut doors. It rains and these words wait out in it, drenched, cold, yet light as breeze. I write. Words that don't move mountains. They are descriptive of the inception of the volcano. I wait. Awaiting a start and waiting. Nail biting. La di da gazing. I wait. Nothing concerning enough. Every soul bleeding out humanity. But nothing. Not now, not then. Fingers tingle. Perspiring and I am pale. So I wait.

Monday, August 13, 2012

Gypsy.


Here I grow again
Leaving trails of me all over the “e”
Traveling with no passes
Hoping from your mind to mine
His and hers
Theirs and ours
Every so often I get restless
And I move
In search of what is to become me
My e-prints and I
Never truly settling
Hey, must be the gypsy in me
Here I speak again,

Yours, mine and the world’s, normadically,

-Omodudu