My skin colour is stained
With an orange circle round my mouth
Each time I take a sip of Fanta drink
My skin colour is not buff
Neither crimson nor cerise but mixed
With a tint of blonde on my head

My skin colour is not difficult to tell
When I look at myself backward in the mirror
My father’s skin is made darker by the sun
Charcoal black when he sits by the fire
Then turned grey with dust of the season
Like the bark of our cherished baobab trees

Death is unknown
Life is the mystery
On the path
Through my own history

I was born
As a positive spark
But alone the way
In came the negative dark

Lost in a world
Without a guiding light
My heart became hard
To withstand the fight

Mists of hate
Clouded my mind
I could not hear or see
Those that would be kind

The opaque screen
Which was my life
Kept my thoughts
In constant strife

stand against
this forlorn wish

the falling wave
heavy as a guillotine
September stays

October drawing
like a wick
the flames of souls
entwined
the sharp taste
of bitter lust
dressed in
Tuesdays look

like your secret
photographs pressed
between the pages
of a favoured book

So many times
So many have tried
And
Failed at it,
To unveil the veil upon my statue,
As I stand alive inside it.
That veil when my time comes,
To attain glory,
Guys and girls come out with stories gory

Why do you want to unveil the statue?
It’s not yet ready,
So they say,
Why unveil it in a half-baked way.
A living statue perhaps maybe
So they steal my recognition away,

If you've never herded oxen,
the way through madness is
an unfolding thing, but
not necessarily so;

if you've never hugged a tree
you must have vampire eyes, drawing blood
from life and limb, but not
necessarily so.

If you've never been in love with love,
you've never climbed a mountain much
less Jacob's ladder, but not necessarily
so;

Hark! hark!
A raven in the clouds.
A slight of sleet,
A chilly hand,
A malevolent spirit barks:

Howl! Howl!
The birds and owls.
The beasts of night
Are feeding fast.

Caw! Caw!
The sound of death.
The funeral gate
Is void of hope.

Leave! Leave!
The reaper calls
Within his solemn,
Melancholy hall:

"To death, they die,
For death, they lie.
For loss, they mourn,
For hope they cry!"

as yesterdays hand
slips off my shoulder
tomorrows embrace
takes my lips

in this, today
I breathe a thousand sighs
and soar a
breathless wind

I've heaved the night
until the day broke
and stood in the middle
of all and nothing

and now I live
in the milliseconds
between this world
and the next

Eat and be merry

A glass of wine with cherry

Sparkling in eyes

Of vibrant young

Nothing of concern

Is discerned

Staring in bottom

Of bottle of booze

Youthful fun

Faded memories

Looking back on

Wasteful youthfulness

Experience, knowledge

Deep rooted

Produced wisdom

From bottom of the barrel

Sound vision…

I stared in stereo,

listened in colour

You were speaking,

that little smile was

playing at the extremities

of your lips.

I felt myself

content,

That long ago evening

we both knew…

I am not a robot
I am not made of steel
I’ve a mind I’ve a brain
I can think, I can feel
Through my frame courses blood
Deep inside beats a heart
I am not a robot
Don’t tear me apart
You could never repair
The parts that get broken
You haven’t the tools
And words softly spoken
May lead you to think
That your game has been won
I am not a robot
The damage is done