Skip to main content

DYING WOMBS


Whereas they may be called fallopian

Meals prepared by the ovarian

Though with no account on YouTube

They house that famous tube

Striving and striking through

A life far from what’s true

Is there anyone responsible

Why the mosquito nets

Who sleeps here yet to be met

And as you drive along circle

You forget this is your preamble

The child you ignored to nurse

Although she boasts her father is a nurse

Won’t mom be forced

To eat dust and feed me flour

Did dad lie saying mom was his flower?

I’m a now a nine year old

But consider young Joe

How long, Should mom long

For an end of this street battle

Seeking alms not forthcoming

If only that rapist did never exist

We live, sleep and beg at airport

Not because we are well off

 But to see what life has installed

Anytime the car parks to pick mom away

I see tears in her smiles each day

If not for us, she wouldn’t have said yes.

Comments

Post a Comment

visit next time for more

Popular posts from this blog

YOUR own PEN

Something mostly divine, Sometimes, it's ours to define. Unlike the plant called Vine, Destiny seldom has pine. And it is our duty to prune and refine. From the feet till we see the spine. It may be a good omen, To which we shout Amen. It might have a fault to mend or dirt to filter, Which might make us think that God did falter. But we can write our own destiny. Yes, we always do. Remember that road you used to the mill, The particular person you talked to, Has it not been your own will? When you wanted to learn, Even when in prayer you did yearn, You took that training seriously, And you passed out successfully, That was your own destiny. That was your pen on paper. When you write, no one can alter. I am the secretary of the God you don't know. Now wait while I print yours out to show. Written down by you as white as snow.
Post a Comment
Read more

HOT BALLS

Should little drops of water a lone be said to make up the ocean While rivers and rain help fill it to brim? When a man complains of hunger, Should he wait till a cropping season While he expects his wife to feed him? Would anyone sit on hot balls Without protection for his own balls? Hot rolled corn balls, Cooked and sold outside the mall Even though today's profit may stall, Vendor hopes to one day stand tall. And what sayeth the founders of wisdom When we ask for a life so wholesome? Patience is key they claim Followed by no pain no gain! But there's a feminine soul Who stood on one sole Slept late, awoke early Empties her bowl  Just to fill her children's belly Twisting and turning Forgetting she's burning Farming without earning All her efforts keep churning Yet what is her reward? A gloom by her so called steward. A rich man can cheat A woman does so and she is cheap Go to the street Ask the women you meet How they made daily meat Just because of a gentleman's...
2 comments
Read more