To the shortest thing in my life

I’m being the best smarterrichersexier and popular than rest of human beings. Spending all my life in a wonderfully fulfilling job that save my planet one day. Being such a complex man is amazing. Life becomes selfie-ready to bang all the day. But’…

To generalise is to be an idiot I can’t even think of affording a smile right now haha!

Because you need a dream.. a plan.. work hard and most importantly money or right that people around you. Or you will ended up like me or that one looking in the garbage for food…..

Their world is organised, it’s own meeting places, customs and traditions, their libidinous lust! Yes, I don’t have goals. I don’t have talents. I don’t have things to be happy. Yet.. I wake up every day?

I survived halfway between being here and gone. I settle for the thought of calling her on the phone. Her melancholic smile…

She is not in the rainbow, she is not in the rain. She claimed to love the poets with her eyes passion bright. But I never speak lightly to her. My words never support her thesis. And… on my worst days “I am a poet!”

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I make no memories

Life is a long story about how you died. My story has started already.

I born. Then came to do all the hard work here on the earth to make thousands of memories. Die one day.

The weird thing is that i hate all this labour toil under the hot sun. The sun has burned my skin. I am so dark. Unlovable… Mine is a life in the life of the hailstones of the hailstones. All the thousand memories seems so empty. Blossom beyond blossoming i saw no flower, no spring..

Some souls never saved in memory. They are to be remembered everyday. They are loved and admired everyday. May i held on; hug you tightly and not let you go. But’ turn your eyes away. Just overcome me. Do not stare at me, i am so dark. Unlovable..

She walks in beauty, like the night Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that’s best of dark and bright Meet in her aspect and her eyes
– Lord Byron

Rastafarian

I drink water. I get sunlight. I am just a herb with complex emotions..

Gloomed dreadlocks. Soot of cannabis. My kind of war-everywhere philosophy. But everything is not fine. I choose to smoke the weed simply because it is black man’s faith. I do respect my body and what it is.

God, the cause of all, is one. I saw my god in red-yellow-green stain. The symbol of martyrdom of past rastafari

Africa… my version of Zion. She is my paradise on the earth. I still remember her in a essay of poignant smile. One day i return to her, holding our emotional warmth that they take away from us.

The corrupt Babylonian system down pressed her. Colonialism separated us. One great love is killed diplomatically. Life being a total fear fest choreographed completely in a downward Oscar slavery.

One day everything will be fine. One day she is going to have so much of self love and i never settle her for anything less than what she deserves. I’m a crying cub. Rastafarian!!

Your wound is probably not your fault, but your healing is your responsibility

– Denice Frohman

I Feel Grey

I constantly aware of an absence. Each and every thing i write is revolve around that absence.

Absence may be an inactive sadness or an indolent wish. Some how it triggers my senses and live again with the bygone. The presence of absence control me as long as it stays as a secret. It’s dark energy galvanize me at times. Thus we co-exist in peace..

I love to be in this alternate reality. No season getting colder here… No sun is ruling here.. I feel grey!! Depression is torn on my table, half-attended.

“No matter where I wander I’m still haunted by your name

The portrait of your beauty stays the same

Standing by the ocean wondering where you’ve gone

If you’ll return again

Where is the ring I gave to Nancy Spain?”

– Christy Moore [Nancy Spain]