Sleep

I'm sorry. But I am sad and I must speak.Everyday, the same story it repeatsThe freedom to be oneself,To express onself as one wishes,To love onself in a world that doesn't love you back,All those things I must fight for everyday.I smile. But I am sad.This isn't natural, this isn't right.Why should I be fighting …

The Emperor of Rats

Poem on never-ending desires

Off the Beat

Everything's always moving. Nothing is still. The earth's always rotating like a basketball on a fingernail. Rhythms and vibrations are in all things living. The bees are buzzing with pleasure like phones recieving flower emojis. Time too echoes, and so does history echo itself ceaselessly. Here we are again, generations hence the plague. What will …

Learning to Speak Less

Funny poem on talking too much

To loves never lived– by Issa Dioume

I never held her head between my hands,I grabbed at mist and caught myself,Heavily falls he who has never had a fall,And I fell harder than a boulder into an ocean.Now, till she comes, loneliness... Poor me, Poor me! from hour to hour The heat of love scorches my heart,But she my mind holds dear …

Years

Suddenly years have gone by.Clear is the water flowing down mountains,As it was back then,Grass that was cut has grown again,To reclaim its shape, again,But you, amid this scene, have changedYou were unmarried when I left,We flirted, we could have been,But now several children surround you,Asking me, Who I am.

World of Words

On the lies that pollute the truth.

Lost Ones

When ones who are close to us leave--The scent of flowers in the wind lessens,The taste of sugar on our tongues softens,The shapes of life on our fingertips turns vague,Sunlight fails to warm our frozen hearts,The rushing waves of our mind crawl over our shores,The love in us dims, We become scared of giving it …

The fate of tools

Fate turns like the spokes of a wheel, When the wheel is broken, The driver descends to replace it with a better, stronger one. Tools of speed will always be replaced, How sad is r How sad their shortness of life, they are like butterflies in the breeze, Beautiful for three days, then quickly swept …

To Poetry

Short poem on poetry