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Conjolted Poetry

Conjolted Poetry

Tuesday, 21 July 2015

Identity crisis

Tablighi bin Bomber


Identity Crisis #Conjolted
In a bombshell, are an insecurity for my identity.
In my thawb appear to be strapped with hand made explosives
"In my beard," hide knives to stab my enemy
Adopted a name that sparks fear and makes them pensive.
Have witnessed name turn from identity to criminality.
Can testify that image is a fallacy to what is me.
Plea guilty of expressing self in a manner mistaken as "societal identity"
Am ruh and not the embodiment of that which they see.
Sadly can not reveal soul to man...

Rich bin poor.

In a bungalow am a king with a crown made of quills like a quail.
In knitted cloth am a poor man slim fitted among the rich.
Am painted rich as the malted lager named ales,
Am a king on a chess board being pushed by my subjects to reach.
On a thin line am a poor man living on the edge of a cliff
In reality am an heir to an illusion of wealth,
Painted as ale are drunk as hell with joy for appearing to be a rich motif,
Am edgy as I take advantage of this wealth in stealth,
gladly will not reveal soul to man.

Waste man bin Rasta.

Laced with nutty dread ina me head are dreadful
With dirt brown dread are "dirty" yet merely quirky!
Smoking spilff are therefore thief yet not a grief tool
Won't cut mi hair therefore rebellious and naughty..
Sing a sweet song fi di herb of peace called chalice.
Therefore praise and worship the highest grade
Know king selassie as they know Jesus down in Venice
Like the Tablighi keep me dread fi di rastafarai movement and trade
Relentlessly serve me soul with serenity.

Harlot bint Hawa.
Gave into sin to feed my yarning empty tummy
Do not deceive with false identity to try to achieve
In high slit on night shift are dressed to tempt thee
Am prey to temptation of the apple(sweet life) like my mother Eve
Left torn down house to work till dawn to give my kids a home.
Am a skimpy skirt; seductive, naughty, and straight to the point.
Aid false needs of those with greed that call me a whore.
Am a trader as if a seller of pork at a pork joint...
Verily seek peace for my heart and soul.

We are who we are, what they say we are, and what we think we are.

Wednesday, 15 July 2015

Guilts Sanction Gaveled

Guilt's Sanction Gavel'ed

Beneath guilt-
lies a glow of purity;
wrapped in kilt.
Easy to unravel;
ayeh, hard to suction-
out like gravel.

I chose to trek-
the loners path,
within me woke-
desire inquiring,
if thy kingdom;
barricades firing.

So desire the enemy,
friendly fired,
and killed humility.
Resurrecting guilt;
the sanity in me-
which had been built;

To take me home-
where I belong,
in Purity's dome;
ayeh, it's too late,
at sacredness' cost-
The apple I ate

Rots in tragedy's fate,
and I await sanction...

Nine to five.

Nine to five, nine to five,
my prescription to live and stay alive,

Yet I work for everybody else but me!
My lady at home won't let me be,
the kids desire for money grows everyday-
wild like ludicrous bills and fees to pay.
Boss demands overtime on charity basis,
my businesses have illnesses of no thesis-
selfishly taking without return of profit,
like mother's illness soaring like a rocket,
and I can not throw a fit, I have to be a man,
toil with hand for a feat sans grand plan.
yet time my enemy is steadfast against me.

Nine to five, nine to five-
the only way we're taught to survive,

It must be 'cause love she is so expensive,
priceless thus costly making us defensive,
guarding our hearts from failed dreams,
acting in jobs we'd rather leave like steam,
we fail to achieve so resolve to quick means,
to get material things to fill the gaps within,
yet skinny jeans can't feed the heart's need;
impossible! And so we feed on greed,
Hell bent on excellence of currency,
cocooned in illusion so truth we cannot see-
yet love in-time can give us all we desire...

After working from dawn,
past the mid-sun at noon,
till the dim light of moon,

I try to rest at night but can barely sleep,
sold my heart and in it love is sound asleep.
I drove with desire and gave birth to liars,
started it all they shouldn't burn in the fire.
Fell for conspicuous wants veiled as needs,
satan tempted and I fast as steed agreed,
to toil for a man yet we can work together.
So now I engineer his dreams like a beaver,
and envy his life built from my sweat,
as love sails far afloat with the lot I dreamt-
yet tick-tock as in contract death knocks.

Where'd I go wrong?

I seek my missing rib, 
to piece the peace within, 
that broke and chose to jib,
when fear cobwebbed pristine.

 where'd we go wrong?

I know you fear spiders 
but never did I creep,
slyly through cracks to seek- 
black widows to bring fear;
henceforth, making you tear.

You were afraid to love, 
said you needed gloves,
'cause you didn't trust "whores-" 
that chased me from before
seeking my tender rib, 

That had heard I was sweet, 
and longed to have a taste
of what I served in sheets.
Is this what made you weak, 
then give into defeat?
yet all I am is meek, 

And such an act of greed- 
I'd never want to seed.
Have I not plead guilty
of needing you daily?
For you were first like eve;
to-bring-me to-my-knees. 

Ayeh you decided- 
to damage rosy love,
and turn it into a; 
Roman Colosseum, 
before we'd even mate
and sumo fight in bed.

Those lonely black widows,
were not enough reason,
for our change in season. 
To testify with plea, 
their sting would be my death. 
So where did I go wrong?

Didn't I create fire- 
that lit the spark of love?
Didn't I hunt for need- 
to feed all your desires?
Didn't I give you piece-
of heart and precious rib?

You chose to start a war,
pulled out guns and raised walls,
roses my battalion,
their thorns must have brought fear, 
so you aimed gun at me,
shooting down my remnants...

and before coupe de grace, 
you euligised and said, 
my rib and heart not enough
in exchange for your heart,
Yet you gunned mine into tatters, 
and left me to piece my peace.

Now I lay in ruin; 
cobwebbed and desolate.
Hawa, without me in; 
how will we procreate?

Blue flames

Blue flames

A white geist rises from-
an incandescent flame.
Illuminating the remains,
of the witch's letters in exchange.
Sullen, I lay in darkness,
owed to a technicality-
of a stupid failed gizmo,
disturbed as my blue balls...

The witch came to visit the city,
many a day after being away,
only to drop in to light my fire,
and leave me at; "ATTENTION!..."
Now I watch the lies cast in her letters,
rise like a tide in the twilight,
while miles away, she runs further-
with a beat down dripping heart...