Perfect imperfections


Sometimes you yield
and bow to the streets
thinking that all its got
to hide yourself in ones heart
is to please them with your all
but through streams of thoughtless thoughts
you would realise
the excavating pain
the hallmark of torture
the trademark of torment
that you can’t please all–

Now being hypocritical
and sounding hypothetical
aren’t the same nerve of truth
so where lies the truth
and where lies the loop
when all life has to offer
is a medicinal benefits in suicide?
so the same goes the sting of a bee
if not Mohammed Ali wouldn’t
have whispered from the same sting

Today death calls
tomorrow birth cries
so is to die has no friend
and pity and mercy can’t
serve mass when there is mourning
and did I hear the morning calls
when in fact night dawns
as a man weeps so does a woman
but who consoles who
when the open crater of the eyes
bleeds with pure tears?


Sometimes I do wonder who to trust
and who not entrust
but if I can’t trust
then whom do I share love with?
pain glitches your soul
and you play the tune
of offering your chest
as a bed of comfort
for souls far tormented than yours
I wish to ask and to question
and no ears are found
along the trenches of the head
to soothe your words

I may be lost at this crossroad
lost without a trail
or an imprint for a follow
yet you hide behind close doors
waiting like a hunter on up-keep for his trap
all in the name of being that rooster
who roost before the dew could fall…

Beautiful faces
Sweet melodies
Ugly senses
Lying tongues
Drinking hearts
and wicked palms that cracked the eggs
all are of a blunt and sharpened edge
of tilted pregnant wishes
that never gave birth to her childlessness
so brother, please tame the river before I cross
for I wish not this draining life
where the very beautiful outside,
is the most ugly inside
and the most handsome on skin,
the most pathetic in soul—

The Village Thinker © 2014

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