by Yas Niger
Chapter 2: Of the heart
The conscience ever tells a fact,
As sure as it is of the heart.
GONE
They are all gone,
I only heard how.
Made me the home
That I have now.
They met my sun
At its very dawn.
Made day my own,
As their night’s done.
They are all gone,
I saw them all go.
Where they’re borne
I will come to know.
CHOICES
Winning ways sought
Speak for their sort.
In their earliest thought
They very often do not.
From many we choose
With lots more to loose
And in all this huge fuss
We thrive more confused.
So with cares of lusts
We live out their costs.
In picking from lots
Best chances are still lost.
PATIENCE
The wait’s lone stance eats away
And slowly wears away hope’s ray.
Such that peace wrecks pride’s ego
Making patience the victor long ago.
FRIENDS CHANGE
Only those true friends,
Because they know you
Would dare tickle you.
All friendships do end
As time will all change;
For time is itself change.
THIS QUEER ODE
Our waltz soothe this blindness
We have suffered as we yearn
For this same blank happiness
That managed all our concerns.
What force carries us onwards;
Fair to our sole wish to love,
Grills our oneness real hard;
That its aroma is sensed above.
That urge we often fear to fight,
Chokes us with its vague numb.
And with time simply waited out,
To our worldly ties we do succumb.
TEMPESTUOUS TRANQUILITY
The wisdom in every beauty
Is not buried within its scenery,
For its goodness and overt sincerity
Consoles every form of misery
And looses every kind of enmity,
To love its sheer sight and merry.
THIS FEAR OF JOY
Bleeding trees don’t all die.
Into our lives a lot will pry.
The driest seed will germinate,
Its pains would compensate.
All leaves die, dry and fall,
Surely will those today so tall.
The little shoots rises we know,
So will all small people grow.
Every growing bud has its own day,
Eluding this fear of joy is our way.
WHERE’S MY WOMAN?
With the dreams of many
Mine wrestled so bravely.
Amidst hopes so sunny,
They tussle aimlessly.
She stood aside alone
With hands akimbo.
Beckoning even a stone,
A sight commanding a bow.
Humming emotional tunes;
Singled out, isolated wishes.
All engulfed in fumes,
Little hope for securing stitches.
Her hairs say her preference;
Tailing behind as Medusa’s crown.
Her aim in her appearance
As everyday she’s a lighter brown.
The immorality in fantasies,
The emptiness in smiles
As hearts create vacancies;
Hopes dumped in closed files.
It’s bottled up inside her;
The pain of another way.
She is sincere and only prefer,
That’s all she ever will say.
In those eyes that speak
Darkness glows from hidden fears.
The wait’s companion at its peak,
Yet she wouldn’t let the tears.
From mountains of selfish pride
Falls many years of knowledge
And it’s all been only a ride
That’s almost at existence’s verge.
Wanting what’s not given
So much that it hurts a lot.
Shy but ever once beaten,
It’s in these fears we’re caught.
So short ago the smiles spoke,
Or so I thought in my indifference.
Hearts appeared immune to a poke,
Like empty bags in conference.
The affection wasn’t a mirage,
Probably the marriage was.
But the rage in this cage;
Experience defeatingly shall pass.
She isn’t standing with me,
Claiming as I do, to be the man.
Her attitude mails nothing I see,
Then where is she, the woman?
LIL’ SIM
Sim played ‘a lil’ house’
On the Muddy’s bank.
Then came a lil’ mouse
And Sim’s skin shrank.
Sim slipped and fell,
Splash into the Muddy.
Soon lil’ Sim could tell
To swim is so hardy.
Lil’ Sim so drank
The bad muddy water.
As her tiny head sank
No one saw Sim later.
Where lil’ Sim will be
Clothes are not clean,
Eyes dark as night be,
They eat no lil’ bean.
O lil’ Sim’s friends
Don’t you wish her here?
Warm beds and story ends,
Like all here who hear.
WOULDN’T IT
Be great to look and see, and just let as it all be.
Do what could and should, with no reserves for would.
Note the horizons as set, to appreciate as they let.
When death does make lone; to say yes! It is all done.
LOVE’S LOVE
This isn’t the story of our wives;
With each and all we share life,
Parting and bridging as we leave.
Each and all of us is this thief.
We lead with all emotions canal,
Lustily wanting all just temporal.
For we only tell from the external;
Wishing, hoping it is so internal.
Rolled in next is the nature,
The feelings growing to mature.
We regard or discard a culture
To marry dreams, make a future.
The investments yield their sanity,
Our character tests its immunity.
The lucky are in blissful humility,
Off springing, living, fostering humanity.
Measurement elude even more less,
For all other lust is meaningless.
Finally, love rules all the featureless,
Together we die till eternity endless.
YOUNG AGAIN
You are only young once,
Blossomed to take your chance;
To scent the world’s spring
With the fruit kinds you bring.
IDOLS
The patience of man
Had over many ages
Given to his own land
Births of many images.
It has made gods
Of so many symbols;
Earthly made rods,
Also celestial balls.
In his long wait
His patience creates
Answers that relate
Only to his state.
The clouds of reason
Cover his horizons;
Make a sky season,
Or mystic masons.
Sight is so deceptive
That it can tilt a view,
Halo any perspective
With inspired preview.
Man looks around
And sees such beauty,
Beyond any he found
Or his own humanity.
In his natural urge
He pays respects to
Visions and courage,
Where honour isn’t due.
In his all human way,
He puts faith in those
He comprehends’ll stay;
Idolizing his very nose.
MONEY AND THE MISER
“Spend me! You miserable clot,
So I can travel, visit and just be.
Have I not uplifted all your lot
With my coming and swelling sea?”
“Ha! See what is talking here;
Another creation grown astray.
Has making you collect near
Lost its purpose as any way?”
“I have existed so long before,
Making many, long before you.
Hadn’t my might sown more
Fright in you than you’ll rue?”
“My fear of you doesn’t keep,
That is why you I do amass.
How trivial your might heap
Just like any furniture was?”
“I taste the air men breathe,
Inhaled in its life and gasped.
Hasn’t the ease I could knit
Warm skeletons all trapped?”
“I don’t lodge or host guests
And don’t burden any to host.
Haven’t I seen your requests
Send errands until they’re lost?”
“I plunge in a lake all humble,
Help will come and does drown.
Had not man’s urge so trouble
His lust for his own crown?”
“Then I’ve unraveled your plot,
So with me you’re ever sunk.
I’ll keep man’s own twin clot.
After all, aren’t you precious junk?”
DÉJÀ VU
They always return like it’s shown,
Somehow better, on their very own.
When they were nothing, they knew.
And as they were begotten, they threw.
Just like such was predestined,
Man’s priorities shifts ascertained.
It was seen and again it will be,
Like again repeats all tides at sea.
They’ve always forgotten man feeds
Just like water kills and still it breeds.
SINGLED OUT
Found out amidst the threshing stones,
Sort out of the cupboard of bones.
Where the situation was doctored
Fell out that one not to be mastered.
Revenge consumes like any fire
And depends on sentimental air.
An action sought to set any aside
Is vengeful if reason and sense coincide.
When anybody is singled out
The stone-casters dance about,
Exposing ignorance and malice;
Ironically with the drummer’s piece.
THE SPOUSE OF SENTIMENTS
Daddy smiled and coughed light,
Understanding my explained plight.
Men are lonely and they know,
Yet they conspire not to let show.
These women are assisted all through
By their very own sex, unlike you.
Firstly by mothers or sisters, then peers.
All thrust, show or coax their shares.
Ladies understand the bodies’ world well
As they grow so guided, you can tell.
The boy discovers on his very own.
And thus, what he finds is his fun.
MONARCH
From the high trees in Mexico;
On the way back to this Mexico,
The great-grand Monarch will stir
As she, this same time and there
Starts a migration of off-springs
At times winters meets springs.
In flight onto the vastness of Texas,
They will briefly settle in Texas;
As did cows, boys and their wives,
Like an established glow of life’s.
Waving cloud of flickering beauty,
Floating yellow specks, so mighty.
The first generation will here pupa,
Here crops feed and protect proper.
Well fed, they cover up and mutate.
These Milk-weeds they do cultivate
Dictates their site, flight and path;
After it, the caterpillars had sought.
Another generation is alone and going,
Together following meals and dying.
Onward northeast with their destiny,
Eighty kilometers a day their mystery.
Their next route only goes on forth;
The generation that returns is fourth.
They had congregated in far Canada,
This generation is journey harder.
Their numbers much as to boast,
As they wait out storms at the coast.
At last in the Augusts’ clear season,
They sprint four thousand miles of ocean.
If Human restlessness keeps its place,
Together like they left this place;
With earth where it was again in orbit
And nature its only possible culprit,
Southwest this living cloud always returns,
To the same trees the Monarch returns.
TALL DREAM
Closed eyes clasp the warm darkness,
Shutting out the silvery glow of the moon smile.
The cantata contest invade with its happiness,
Carrying all in the still air of the mating mile.
Oh how simple the peace of this revelry,
The mind and ears wonder the vastness of it all.
Clinging on sanity with man’s overt mystery,
Wishing all love melts into this dream so tall.
WIDOWED DREAMS
What claims have dreams, each on its scale?
One solemn day they all see and they fail;
The egg they lay carries another’s shell.
Thank goodness for a glance at posh’s hell,
When lust toyed with life’s curtains’ rail;
Behold the widowed dreams yet trail.
FEVER
Through eventful years the sticks ever pile,
Hopes with the trunk that vomits emptiness.
The mighty broom swept so long a mile,
Still dirt abounds as its proud fruitfulness.
Mourning tears leave this feeling of numbness.
Eras of evolution has not changed the egg,
The needs of man same and ever will be so.
Maybe a broom will kill lizards on a clay keg
And not break it too like the stick did before.
In this concoction only soluble particles’ temperatures soar.
Promise of the lands are all pointing,
Yet the future is hot food in the mouth.
Bodies buried and alive, had and are, waited and waiting,
For the joy in swallowing and satisfaction they sought.
Over hard filled years waiters without appetite rot.
The dogs in this story are the traitorous pigs,
Their patriotism is fake like sweeping grains with a rake.
Locusts that plunder the field leaving tiny dry twigs,
Their determined whispers stir reasoning ideally fake;
These dishonourable gentle heads that ache.
The locusts ate the grains, the rake wasted the rest.
The broom was left so little in its fold.
In this farm, pigs serve dogs for it’s their best.
The egg will likely shatter in hands that shouldn’t hold.
They chest indifferently the agony of the rest in the cold.
WILLS OF WISHES
She is an old village;
Naïve, crude, no
t low in age.
She understood very little,
Wasn’t sure if trust was so simple.
From the refined distance he came;
With strength he showed his shame.
With feeble resistance she succumbed
And all that’s hers he well combed.
Because she paid well he kept her
And married her from leagues afar.
She never nodded or was asked
But remained his and tasked.
They got a son after a while;
The bastard was proud in his smile.
With time he knew mother and father
And truly had cause for bother.
Claiming justice the father withdrew,
His loyal son he let rule like he knew.
The complication wasn’t at first obvious.
As time tells, it also is very envious.
The mother weeps for her dear son,
For the father has the whole person.
Their bastard is what he knows
And in this nature all does grows.
Tomorrow’s sunsets come inevitably,
Carrying vague identity’s loyalties happily.
Nursing dreams of his father’s riches;
Their bastard made wills of wishes.
STRENGTH OF A WOMAN
Where is the bird that hatched this egg?
Flying above the world, up so very high.
And the monkey the farmer wouldn’t beg?
Laughing up a branch, he threatens not near.
Will they ever marry their ideas, so very big?
As always they steal, flock, eat and do share.
Flying above the world, up so very high,
The bird still returns down to hatch its egg.
Laughing away harmless threats if not near,
The monkey’s hunger for the farm will beg.
Their ideas created their world and it is clear,
That strength of the woman gave marriage a leg.
FIRST PAIN
When I felt it happen too;
Like I heard and saw it too.
I died that day that I knew;
I was just me and not new.
Then alive I sprout out again;
Living as all do, after their first pain.
HEART DIES LAST
Where is life? If you may ask;
Not numbed by faith’s old task.
Is it with living body or wise mind,
In fountained heart or soul to find?
LOVE BIRDS
Two birds perch on a tree;
One a he, the other a she.
Like any such human couple,
They couple into love’s trouble.
They take off into the sky,
Together dancing as they fly.
Like the early romance,
So full of sweet substance.
Returning to a common nest
Gives stability, if not rest.
Like marriage does at a stage,
With emotions and with age.
When they’re off in the sky,
In opposite singles they fly.
Like your everyday spouses;
Submerged in life’s sauces,
Then one bird perches alone,
Anyone of the birds on its own.
Like any spouse takes its turn
To wait the other’s solo run.
When the other bird is back,
With a petal tuck in its beak;
Like its partner it will find
Its affection swallows its kind.
TEMPERAMENTS OF THE SEASONS
It must be the first, like the light;
Sunny rising summer, all so bright.
The height of the moods pick its reign
When the temperament is sanguine.
The confidence predominates over all,
Its bloodied florid hopelessness stands tall.
Then in that order sets in depreciation;
With bare windy Autumn’s desperation.
A sluggish retrogressive mood, so apathetic;
Displays the temperament as phlegmatic.
The unexcitable disposition throws up its palms;
Receive unemotional bleakness that never calms.
With the mood at its least hopeful state,
Gloomy winter’s horizons hide living fate.
The sad presentation of it is so symbolic,
Revealing a temperament so melancholic.
Its mournful dejected air doesn’t let out
That around the corner linger what its about.
Its about life going on, resurfacing yet again;
Like spring returns to mellow out the pain.
The tasty fruits of a weather so irascible,
Its passionate choleric temperament is unstable.
Speaks volumes of man being never mature
And how he resembles the seasons in nature.
THE EPIC OF BAMAGUJE
The tale
Myth tales of great Bayajidda
The stories’ author of all Hausa
He trophied a serpent in Daura
Which made thirst of their well
And married their crown bearer
Prince of mighty Baghdad
City of the most sacred race
Fleeing his so furious father
Across the vast dry expanse
Like a worm he left a trace
Bastards ever begat bastards
This prince did have fourteen
With the crown he had seven
And with loose maids another
All formed lands legitimate or not
With a faith embraced in force
The tale sought to erase history
Legitimizing its apt ascension
Without due regards to facts
Either traditional or customary
Tales the child tells his peers
After he has compared origins
That pride and great honour
Like Ishmael’s became a nation
And the swords crossed palms
The truth
Driven on downwards earlier
Off northern homes by Berbers
In flight also they meet Tuaregs
Brought together in their fear
Two races like fated and destined
Much time of harmonious peace
The races naturally yoked here
As they settled to live and bred
Their half-castes knew ease
And such a mere life they led
Traditional in past and faith
Makeri of so great a repute
Islam’s sword left its sheath
And a mere life was made mute
So became the land and its
Ashamed of all its culture
That the sacred didn’t nurture
Hiding from all the nights
And clinging on rootless future
Denied are all that is right
Sons of the soil, Bamaguje
You breathe this land and its
Homeless children, Bahaushe
The stench of you is too real
But Bamaguje is the Bahaushe
GOLD AND SILVER
Heat maketh we both;
Rich soil’s own waste.
Woke us to its breath
To breed it and eat.
The furnace is bold
To have and to Gold,
Mere crucible to hold
Silver crusts it fold.
Stallion run over care,
Strife lil’ earthen mare.
What stages we share
Sow values not fair.
FOR THE GOOSE, FOR THE GANDER
Truly men are all these;
Gamine and very equal.
Same flock, like geese;
Gracile, fat, low or tall.
Man envies other fauna’s
So ordered chauvinism;
Governing sexes’ manners,
Which he lost to pessimism.
His most domesticated flora
Flowers in care and abuses,
Beyond its feminine aura;
Winning just as he looses.
The good old Goose
Lost her lone Gander.
Proud-less of her loss,
Matured beyond order.
Living with only them,
By the hedges they grew.
For that edge over them,
He still says, ‘Grâce â Dieu!’
NIGHTLY
Black like blind,
Silent as the mind.
Faith is in the act
And not in the pact.
Early all the time,
Always in its prime.
The sights are blind,
At night we all find.
So in their prime,
The nights of time;
Whiter though blind,
Says what is to find.
In whirls of a mind;
Never there to find,
Nights sure as time
Are safe for to pine.
PESSIMUM
People loose their own mark,
Showing off what they lack.
Each time brings its fear to us
And it shows in our every fuss.
Ours is made just as real,
That is not just how it feel.
For in giving what we have,
We only take like we gave.
Never really asking for trust,
For we do know what it cost.
Desire should make a picture
That should show its future.
AND THE MOTHER DIED
A strong gust of air blew
And twin curtains withdrew.
Float horizontally in mid-air,
Like Angles’ wings would pair.
The mother walked in her peace,
Embodied in that first brief glimpse
From within a curtained covering;
Into our world an Angle steps in.
Unique as, loving every person;
Everyone passes her tests’ reason.
Saw goodness, polished badness;
Her large heart sought happiness.
This world her one own family,
Which will see her out, sadly.
Her motherhood a duty not a task,
In her circumstances that lack.
A right for which she had fought,
Is her motherhood in every breath.
She lost physical battles down here,
But won the war with years to spear.
Then she had cancer and died,
Joining all those from us deaths hide.
The victor hasn’t yet flourished
When his vanquished all perished.
Death can only but surely lose,
Yet the fear of him we choose.
He doesn’t get the peace we see.
Then what really, really has he?
He can’t keep us as ornaments,
Passing for the briefest moments.
His power ends where it starts,
Coming and going, never ever lasts.
He reveals two very key lessons
In this very life for all persons;
Where lies a life there are lies
And all roads to a same place plies.
It is really true then and no fuss;
God sends his Angles amongst us,
Takes them when he misses them,
Out of a world that cherishes them.
STILL IT IS LOVE
Plucked feathers litter the cage of marriage
Like dead leaves beneath all family trees.
Age’s breeze stirs their lightness in rage,
Exposing the polygamy in love to its knees.
Once tender leaves dry and carpet a shadow,
Every chicken’s bastard is seen so real.
The spouse’s love remains a wife’s sorrow;
To acknowledge its still love, love is still.
WHAT LOVE
Lived a time solo
In anywhere hollow.
Leaps to go further,
Crawls as any other.
Grows into time,
Ripe for one crime.
The only one ever
And it’s done forever.
Into sight steps
Love and it helps.
For common quests
Meet there guests.
Legs scratch creak
And mate a pick.
Love only matter
And don’t murder.
After that instance
Breed will enhance.
Death is all healed
As the mate mealed.
For one love act
Fed nature’s pact.
The only one ever
And again never.
SOMEBODY’S FOOL
Tomorrow came, sun shining.
Yesterday left with its dining.
Readied for the certain raining
And aged by much experiencing.
Yet very much the stone in a pool,
For everyone is someone else’s fool.
PRESSURE
Not this push’s cure to be read,
Bought or however with all science.
Sought o’er but never had,
Thought never bore its conscience.
Brought ever near and sad,
Doubt never the lurking consequence.
Fought only to severe till mad,
Naught all to sever its laid sequence.
Caught ever, history has said.
Though ever pinches, it is all nonsense.
SHEEP TO GOAT
Sheepish dumb, eating schooled.
Shaggy wool worn; looks the fooled.
Simply gentle and calm for sure.
Story of yours is for the pure.
Sovereign lord wished no more.
Goatee presence, ever the sharp.
Greedy, parentless, adorable chap.
Goody oh, all lively and bold.
Gullible sexist, rearing coined gold.
God must’ve let off your hold.
EGGS
Of all the eggs man hatches,
Bred chicken’s he most matches.
To have laid and consume such;
Grow, yield or still change much.
None knowing its own whence
Or where’s much timely when.
Unlike its master whose knives
Pick off its yet feathered lives;
It has no say in what brings
The very end of all things.
RUNNING CHILD
Child, I love you so
And mean you well.
But from me you go,
Running away you fell.
This freedom you know,
It hurts you will tell.
THE EVOLUTION OF EARTH
Each day we groom little rapists
Another fuel for those arsonists
Ruling the realm of all realists
Trading in the gluttony of egoists
Housing all those unconscious theists
GAY
At birth the bloom will say
What piece in the pair stay
A plus for lives’ coupled play
In structure all living may
Grow, roam and breed away
As only possible since day
Alas, I fear the body did sway
Hearts and minds too stray
To please nothing else they gay
SHEPHERDS AND SHEEP
Woe to the shepherd
If his foe is his herd
And damned is the sheep
On a pasture they can’t reap.
WILL YOU MARRY ME?
These intimate songs we sing
Blend aged dreams into a ring
That weds our gendered stew
In matrimonial oneness not new.
AGE STEALS ALL
Somewhere in all days;
Witnessed as is always,
In the morning’s blue skies
As in the nights’ goodbyes.
It stops the singing,
Matches the hatching.
In its crawling time,
It bettered the wine.
With nothing to give,
It gives and yet deceive.
Wizen the ripened old;
Consumed and still sold.
Young the years grew
And gathered all anew.
Stealth gets its way
As age steals all away.
BATTLE OF THE CELLS
Who must comes first,
Males or the females?
This knowledge a thirst
That quenches with cells.
If what is common birth
Forms females or males;
Supremacy is their myth,
Caged within each cells.
HYPOCRITES
Those who curse the dog’s wet nose,
Let them please cast the first stone.
It can’t wag its tongue mouth close
As they commonly do on their own.
It barks its reason like all of those
Who do but wouldn’t leave it alone.
WHAT EARTH SAID TO THE SUN
Oh nothing. Just that it knows
that in its daily rounds,
its light shines beyond every nose.
Oh, and that it just found out
though it does need all this,
but must it be so damn very hot?
Oh, it always chooses to hide
when it is most desired,
so it follows a dense cloud’s side.
Oh, yes it must shine its light
that sprouts all alive,
but must it select time and might?
Oh, in its daily timely departure
it picks when its light
had served work and not leisure.
Oh, its massive size remains so far
and as near as a hand’s palm
so why don’t they all stay where they are?
Oh, also if and when they do meet
then let its light grace all,
because it is only fair in this feat.
AFRAID OF COMMON FEAR
We’re afraid so much of necessary failure,
Of what others think of us and of the future
And the past gone and now; just afraid.
We seldom show our consuming phobia fear,
They’re pushed to sub consciousness, left there.
There they swell up and fester; being afraid.
Our hidden fears create a climate of anxiety;
Scarcely knowing why we’re afraid, its insanity.
But still live on like this, basically afraid.
THE WORLD OF FORGETFULNESS
Amazing how easily we forgot
The cold as soon as it’s again hot,
Or the raw feel of our thirst
As soon as we had water first.
Pain, only as long as it linger;
Ends when joy points a finger.
The many promises we had sworn
Are as soon not again our own.
The personal stories we told
Long before we got this old,
Or plans we drew up and made
Before we realized what we said.
The friendship’s wasted hugs
As quickly, is all stale and bugs.
That shoulder we so cried on
We now see and as quickly run.
Those hands that shook ours
We now reach out to from towers,
As soon as we forgot again;
It’s dry, but again it will rain.
HARVESTERS
Whistling by the lined woody pine;
The only one who doesn’t see me mad.
I finally see that which all this time
Had been there, glad to see me sad.
Constant change can make it possible
For my senses’ to see and finally hear,
The breath and living of man’s trouble;
Like the sounds of reason ever there.
Bodily quests had blunted all the men;
Had made our sharp seasons cut less.
And we reap when we sow and then
Make worldly riches more aimless.
OWN TO OWE
I have always wondered
What goes through the mind
Of the infant we so conceive?
If he know he is or if he was
And how then I can never tell
If he wanted or wish to need?
I need not wonder to know
All about the known conceivers;
Their want, wish and needs they say.
I know the person as a being;
His wants, his wishes, his needs.
These same I didn’t know before.
I couldn’t tell before he is,
From where he is or has been.
His hopes are all lost to me.
I then can not justify
All this favour I will do him;
If I do know he knows not.
If it is all I, mine and me;
His life ever has been mine
To want, to wish, to make?
I owe him more than knowledge!
What is more human and selfish
Than to owe who you own?
SOUNDS OF LIFE
Letting individual faith be;
Carry its soul to its own sea,
Stupid perspectives as all too.
It speaks only when spoken to.
In its peace it rows its boat
Sweetly to an abode it thought
Ferries revelry ever so new,
Or simply just as it chooses to.
When, if or whether it matters;
Over everything the mind falters.
It waters sand and dry up dew,
It heard and does as it wished to.
Up high in vague divine quests
Or down in worldly conquests;
But versed and tensed it knew
Sounds of life we’re just all up to.
NOTHING
Alone I roam with the air,
The wild administer to me fair.
People all make you only sin,
This is the truth I’ve felt and seen.
MY WILL
When I do die; and I surely will,
If you cry I will not surely heal.
When you cry, it wouldn’t purge.
If you still do, please stop I do urge.
You should laugh because of this;
I knew of this and prepared as it is.
At least I tried hard, so why the cry?
I made my best of it to say this bye.
Do not paste your perception of me
And print your story for all to see.
I curse they that make some booklet,
For my funeral service I will never let.
If I am not writing my own story,
Then no human has the right or glory.
I dare he who owes no single sorry
And desires a life long torment so gory.
Sing if you must, pray if you would,
Don’t put out my picture in some mood.
Remember me as you last saw me or see fit,
Don’t display my body without me in it.
Days’ moments after death’s end,
Do bury me quickly there and then.
Wait not for all or some sunny day,
Do only just as my true home say.
My spoils I have all so shared,
In needs as deeds I had cared.
I owe only God first not any,
I paid debts I could, every penny.
I tried living because I just must,
Though like all others, I have lost.
I craved to blink ever so ready
For that spot and time so
ready.
PATHS
Births aren’t starts,
Conceiving on facts.
Gestation’s little price,
Only the baby truly cries.
Bubbling youth bursts,
Adulthood courts lusts.
Stereotyped in existence,
Coloured in conscience.
Death can not be all,
All gather and will fall.
Like time of all births,
Vague are the real paths.
TALE
The tale of two lives;
All one to a person gives.
A life of haves and receives,
Another of wants, needs and lives.
Living able and able who gives.
KING OF LOVE
You should as would have been king,
It was a right as right you stayed crowned.
Yet to fall in love with your story ever brings
Applause with adoration, though chivalry is downed.
