my poetry shines at night through your flame
inside the mosquito net
you dont even care what color it wears
like you are being there as a prostitute.
when the crimson sky fades
with revolution in black market
you emerge out of bamboo shoots and Ngafak
from every small keithels scented with Uhmorock
Mother cooks in your light
Father search for his alcohol scented sons
in your light
from the thatch roof of small huts in hill
you shine on against the darkness of sky
I am gonna burn another you
to see how long this dark night is
is it longer than my poetry of petrol blues?
is it shorter than my song of dream?
Shine on! teach them to burn their weakness
like you burn your wicks showing the light in you
No comments:
Post a Comment