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Conjolted Poetry

Conjolted Poetry

Saturday, 2 April 2016

Suicide.

"You're fucked up!" My friend said to my brother,
who handed him back a crooked one side smile
with a hefty drug eyed look and replied,
"I'm worse than that!"

He has been there,
not once, not twice, not thrice,
to that dreadful place that gives aid-
to those that have lost self control,
and are being remote controlled,
by false parole that replicates freedom,
and hands it to them in a pricey basket.
At the value of intoxication and indoctrination-
of persona into the chains of;
addictive worship of an idol that-
when you are idle makes you slip and lose grip of self.
Makes people point fingers,
and wickedly cast judgement for to them-
ending up in butabika; a place of serenity,
a place where the so called "crazies" be
where doctors are paid to revive your identity...
Is an abomination, a reason for your-
discrimination against the sober nation.
For after one too many shots-
of benzene and hits of nicotine,
sips of eagle and glasses of Nuvo,
that give you wings and boost your ego.
You start to exude of a being that isn't you;
a possessed being, an example-
that things can get out of hand,
and that if one is smart they can learn.
To respect what drugs and alcohol-
did and are doing to my brother.
A young man from a family so grand,
yet just like any other out there
for a problem is a problem,
whether you are rich or poor-
it treats us all without bias!

He said, "I have no control over it,
trails of cigarette buds on the road,
lead me to the same old route..."
I had never noticed buds on the road,
that's when I learnt how the mind works,
If you feed it one to many pleasures,
it magnifies their importance to your system.

And for a young man his age,
he sails the clouds ever so often,
and when it's time to come down to earth,
he sky dives and lands into pools of alcohol.

Where he keeps swimming in the deep end,
and even if the scars weigh down his heart,
even if hits from constant shots bring him down;
I tell him, I urge him,
that his soul is bullet proof,
nothing can hurt him but himself!

Ayeh still! He gives into his bodily demands,
and despite losing respect for everyone else,
he once again loses all utter respect for self,
and back tracks like a record player only-
to treat himself- his body with disregard and-
gets sucked out of his gourd and out of control....





Special shout out to Mugoda Gordons

Star crossed lovers.

For a long time,
I had been seated on my star,
masking it with a shadow-
hindering it from its shine.

She says she saw it glow,
said it sparkled through my eyes,
and glittered onto her skin,
then sunk deep into her heart...

Her eyes became ecstatic-
from the cinematic beam of my rays,
that entertained and enthralled-
her every tingling taste bud.

When I caught glimpse of her star shine,
my heart got entwined in her rays,
and all that glittered wasn't gold-
it was but my puny heart...

It had been coloured by love.
we had been gravitating the sky,
deemed out by fear of the unknown,
until our inner glows escaped...

I didn't know stars emitted heat,
it was only when she was by me,
that I felt her warm embrace;
thatch onto me like lace,

It was then that I understood love,
it was then that my heart opened,
it was then that I knew love was unbound
and that it came with no condition...

Our stars crossed,
at the end of it all-
that's all they ever did...
Now all they do is flawlessly glow.

In time, they'll explode and in joyous glory,
Glitter through the sky to tell our story. 

Don't forget.

I hate to have the brain that carries-
the grain of detail that slips my mind,
drives you wild and makes me quake-
for I hate to partake in bringing the jungle out of you...

I wish it were with intent that my mind blurs,
my memory and chooses to get ahead of me-
in causing you displeasure; ayeh, neither can I say-
it's above me for its from within me that I act-
the way I act when I cut through hurt your heart...

I can't explain why bit bit I reserve things,
in cache memory yet they should be stored-
for me to access like an ATM,
so we can be at par and carry our love like elegant fur...

It's annoying how most nights and days over-
months we spend apart, we see the same twilight,
half full and full moon but as it is with us and the moon;
we can barely lay a hand to feel each other.

The path we've taken is like a desert filled with dunes-
in which we sink- with winds that test our grip,
mirages that keep us hopeful and tumble-weeds,
that let us know we are alive and not alone,

I wish I'd get on top of things like the sky,
that holds the rain so that I'd know your pain,
even before it comes trickling and inexplicably falling-
like a dried leaf off a tree feeling abandoned.
maybe, I'd be able to stop it...

I can not tell you if we'll be okay,
I'm no doctor; although I wish I were, like you;
I'd give us a diagnosis and treat us if we were catching
or if we ever catch a case of "letting go."
But I, I am hopeful, I won't let go because I know where I want to go.

So as we walk from different ends of this dessert
to find ourselves half way at oasis,
I know the sun toasts you to crust
and grass is always greener on the other side;
but, I only ask of you one thing,

Don't be like me, don't let you memory get the best of you,
and make you forget that I love you, ever so dearly,
and like the heart in my chest that I often forget gives me breath,
I need you, I appreciate you, and I am grateful to have you in my life.


Love's fabric.

Love's fabric.

Fabric is tested by time.
Good knitting lasts a life time-
once loose strands meet,
they tie the knot avert divorce.
.
Like the old, it gets weak;
it's a curse bequeathed.
Some people can't deal,
some hate to hoard,
they'd rather buy new cloth,
find comfort in it, and-
the process repeats...

If love was a fabric.
most of us would be-
materialistic prostitutes,
gallivanting piece to piece,
as we grow old and leave-
what was once our favourite cloth,
abandoned and unloved,
to seek temporary joy-
to fix a permanent situation.

Learn to fix your good fabric,
it can last forever if you care.