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Title:- SNEAKING THROUGH CLASSROOMS

                      [ I ]

Putrefying love hath these walls where we dock in pairs, incurred in the affairs of the school curriculum; as maniacs who suffer with the wind in adolescence and we were noisy or so we chose to be of our set at that millennial age, we laugh and jotter in frail parts of thought and when the waves would come to pick us up to untimely horizons.

Age welcomes one with secret tears to uphold and hide and each moment decomposes like dung, little kids spark like plugs and play in the sand aligning a brute smile on the contours of evening, the weeds slide northward by the sides of the water splashing on the castles built by these little pigeons.

Lines become invisible on these walls, ashes mumble in smoke availing and revealing, reoccurring as de ja vu elapses, the rain outside is distracting and the music stops in the low density weather, time motioned slower, the room was both quiet and still, awake ‘eruptions’ by ‘Lucky Dube’ played

One could imagine as they performed to thousands of audiences from different localities of the world with purpose and swagger screaming let freedom reign, I could imagine the artist in their own personal anxieties too, the hip hip world and their own perplexing turmoil, hope they did not lose the consciousness of being God like; subtle Canaan knitted on iron straws. The ballad continues tomorrow.

Music could be the feeling of our repugnance of truth, these airs twirling around; around the open valleys of dead rocks. This affection unseen in teenage years could become fluid and surpass or escape our inadequacies wearing school uniforms, walking long pavements reciting “hippy-ya ya hippy hippy ya ya!” In polished brown leather sandals.

                     [II]                        

It would glitter and radiate under the sun, resonating a student’s untimate pride to where these. To walk in school uniforms along the streets was something of solemn pride. There was silence!

As motherhood and black natives spin countless hours on the windmill. The year  August 14, 1995 it rained for many hours. Silence hovered and fear was underneath. Agitation was everywhere, hunger too, laughter swayed and yet not many had the strength to gossip about the rude clerk or the bad democratic government.

The silence became thick now detached like strands on rooftops, clusters like grey clouds do tell of flares, the cobwebs lay and cognitive we imagine a holocaust at night during the star gaze, as Salome reincarnates to phlegmatic traits when our beams lay shadowed by the grave and gravels of extinction, when she became lost under a bristling noon

A few perils did untie me under the spotlight, passions one did speculatively idealize and the shimmer of doubt that buffeted our spirits, when we dangled like stalagmites in our intersections needling beneath plunge pools, miles and eyes have ferried to lands unknown, shaft buzzing on the ears, this Cupid lukewarm city in Belfast has a memory like mine, looming brute unwittingly as eyes of brass do wake when those armed rebels attack by the noontime again.

Stilt toes do walk in a field of echoes – on cliffs the weak knees lay on bent sparrows and when weaklings make mockery of an empty pocket

A canary now can dance into the dark finding a mate and a nest, one can find a spot at a riverine and write a plot or a glittering sonnet in humor as it emanates unmentioned and fragile like these sea weeds fluttering underneath flocks of sea ghouls.

Of yellow blossoms we saw by the precariously laid rocks of plateau and the magic of having something unmoved for years, the Mississippi’s arm chair in Egypt, where can one not go now in peace? Awakened by the dream each line is an unrest unsettled be neath a warning. Awake all night.

Title:- Jingle’s on eardrums

These arm chair whisperings of John Carter never grew old it kept coming like the early morning showers. Such bloom in salt soil in another’s soul and the hollow beneath here and there, the jaguars pile near the rocks

Every now and then the leopard flees into exile to be the force behind every stride down the forests, through the dry streams, screaming wrathfully.

NOTE:-

These compilation of Poems has subtitles not included in the first chapter of the book. Thus, just read along as the book unfolds. Thank you for reading through!🌼

Title:- In Trench Town

                       [I]

It was yet another morning, heat laid on the rocks, flowers singling needing water, swayed like these falling egos, it was dark when they sang of falling folsattos knowing know fear of insomnia

Somewhere things move like termites migrating to the mountains while we sit to open up an ear drum by the pearly gates far off on the horizon

We saw the weather cackle in the heat and the streets orbit fumes of car smoke, devoted worshippers knacking a gong and ringing a bell on every passer by- the end was near

We saw the years waddle on like an elephant tail heavy and grit, the high pitched mountain lay distant from afar and when the city crumbles kiddies play on the sand

                      [II]

Whilst indeed our spirits were broken by this atoms and genetics, the altitudes of nature or the cells we build in our domicile world of unrealistic selves

We have a life to live but we became trees and stood by the sides of the road awaiting street lights at 3:00am, our ache in these encampments

Who listens to the prisoner who is awake and the warder half asleep or dead to the emotional discontentment of black power

A prisoner breaks someday and the brute sinner repents and can speedily be undone by the hymns and becomes battered in the reconnaissance of the 21st century or the last.

[III]

Charm is repugnant in her sockets by these ghettos laid on wooden planks, the river bridges of hope, the hills and those who would migrate to far distant lands

Play fair and a loss awaits in politiks while lunar in embryonic lights, under the Presbyterian Church sights, drink cups of wine and wallow in the grape vine,

Screaming amazing Grace! Now in those corners, Lanes in black streets you must see chewing sticks from Singapore and China while Lee Quan Yu sets captives free

Who’s prostituting along those walls that leads young women on boats along these same monkey town? That leads to Taiwan, Turkey and Iraq. Bloody hell Let Mary’s blood let loose! Down the capes.

Title:- Awaiting in Abstraction

Silhouettes strain from yesterday’s tiring parody and epileptic prose, of my escape to gleam places hiding in the dark, in caves hunting monkeys, on foot firing some misguided trance hiring aesthetically natures muse, cuddling the river dirt and the periscops o’re on phlegmatic trees lure on dry French leaves on greasy liveried plains to relapse or lay dead on moonlight dusk

One desires to fall in such acquaintances of roaming naked on the beach like these shrimps and turtles in arms of unfeigned ghosts, tomorrow sits closely and nurtures tightly on it’s furs on could cower at frivolities by the slabs, grooves bite at each sleek moment which one reiterates each cellular muscle to reach ideals that only fugitives could fathom, heart pulsates waiting tomorrow brighter beams of sunlight.

Note from author:- All poems appearing in each chapter are sub titles written in each of the chapters of the book.🌼🌼

Title:- The Passerby at Pass over

Lurking at the corner of stores and at the car parks or at weddings under those foots turning water to wine, in the garden tending shrubs, cutting the spear grass, by these Presbyterian lanes, he was there even at Nazi when the wars broke out, and the missiles struck and when flesh pounced on red Earth, he was there, lurking in veil-like shadows. He was in those paintings blazing like an inferno,

In the cinema halls bonding with every character in the movies and he still lurks in hiding diaries somewhere in insomnia town where a ferry leads on and on and then finally dives into water; and in there you see him swim with the fishes blowing bubbles in there and the mermaids laugh and laugh till it gets cold and feverish underneath, then I cower into the caves and find him in the fire sizzling like volcano in an earthquake. And he is a crusher of rocks. This passerby at Passover.

Title:- Alone

A fall of sunset appears afar off the terrain across the marble to the swimming pool in one sweet yellow ease of clouds

Now and then the horse riders come to play at the polo fields, with all it’s dazzling lights at night

Can one have vivid visions on those lawns or are we to be as those horses, their brute stern black and stamina

They rode on them and fell and when the horses had bedeviled looks, one who nearly falls asleep day dreaming of Sand dunes and African wars.

I’m very sorry this episode is coming late. Though it’s here, so have fun.

Thank you for reading!I love and appreciate you, each and everyone here reading through my blog, all grateful for the kind support.