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 … Continue reading Sleep
Here I sit, Rooted to a chair, Drinking myself dry, With my curly hair Here I sit, With wine in a hand, And pen in the other, Every breath a sigh, Every limb out of joint, Lost in a red sea of self-pity As my eyes stare down at the pages I seem to lose … Continue reading Wine and Writing on a Cold Night
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 … Continue reading To loves never lived– by Issa Dioume
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.
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 … Continue reading Lost Ones
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 … Continue reading The fate of tools
Short poem on poetry
In the place in my body where the past perches highest,There is only pain,But neverminding that, I will lift my head.Despite a childhood spent bowing under blows.My head will rise to stare Mount Olympus in the face. Despite a childhood spent touched by sick grownup hands.My own hands will grip my child one day with … Continue reading I Will
Exercise to improve your writing and try new things.