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This is a poem
This is what you
Write when you
Are in ten shades of pain
When your heart can’t find
Words to describe
The flow in your veins
This is the poem
You write
When your world falls
Like an avalanche
Burying you 
In silence
And pain
Is a pinch of parley
On scrambled egg
Hitting you from all sides.



​I know why people cut
When the pain eats deep
like a bed bug, leaves
You scratching for days
Leaves the red souvenir
That burns like fire
You just want it to stop
To flow out of your veins
To feel the relieve of
Life draining
Maybe it’s selfish
But pain that can’t be put
In words can block your eyes
from seeing any other.


​The child forgets
Pretend game is sweeter in twos
The gamer forgets
Chess is a game for two
The dancer forgets
It takes two to Tango.

A tree that forgets
A forest is made of many
Will end up under my mother’s pot
Guarded by three stones
Or in my fathers backyard
Guarding the hoes from
The harsh hand of the hamattan.
The tooth pick in the
Beer-palour was a stick
Who broke up with the broom.

Let Britian remember
She does not have
A planet to herself
Let her watch her floating
mouth before it sinks her.
Let the United Kingdom remember The floor is slippery and
It falls hurrying feet.


​I am a wood pecker, stuck
to one spot so I am
learning that I’ll always
see the good in people
even though they constantly
prove me wrong.

I am a steel rod beating
on one spot but I am
learning that there is so much
betrayal a heart can
take before it is broken
There is so much a spirit can
take before its light fades.
There is a spot where we
go over the edge.

I am learning
that I may be swinging
in that spot.


​Half the yam is gone

Roasted, boiled, 

Pounded, mashed.

Half the yam is here

Wet and juicy.

He who has the sauce

Must prepare.

He who has the pot

must hurry.

He who has the knife

Must come.

Let the Lord of the yam

Bless the harvest

Till the end of time.