i dont do drugs, i smoke leaves of grasses
not walt whitman's grass
they said i look and behave like poet
i know what's their point
all the comrades i saw, talk hell lots of shit
but dont know how to button their shirts
i went to the lady when i had enough of this world
the lady in white, leaning on the wall
pushing out her well curved breast
put her hand inside it like she is gonna give me the best
there she took out the brown small envelope
like a sweet sixteen giving me her love
i got my sweet grass now in my hand,
on my nerves, inside my veins
words start fighting for better rhyme
music notes floatimg in the air like widows' hymn.
my fantasy to fall in love with a widow
i can see vividly through my broken window.
she completes my incomplete poetry
she points her finger to a fallen leaf, said it's the poetry.
she lies down on my wooden couch
that i got, all the way from mandalay, free of cost.
her perfect body waters the dry leaves
the lazy soul wakes up like spring trees
and i said: "sweety!
will you be my honey?
will you show me what is love and not love?
what is the height of heaven, where is your white dove?
the silence comes knocking on my doors
the sweet grass gets washed away by the cry of jim, the doors
i throw away my smelly blanket
i peep through my window with my swollen eyes like a bat
the world is flying and shattering into pieces, the driver was overdosed
the poors, like butterflies, are colorfull and me, still a yellow rose
i throw away my smelly blanket
i shave my head and have a look at my cat
she hides her tail like a coward dog
i shout at her: dont you recognise me, bitch, oh! god
my neighbours are watching me cleaning my smelly shoe
wondering what a change in this world of akhu
i lock my house of leaves of grass
not walt whitman's poems: "leaves of grass"
i walk down the narrowest road
so that i dont fall down on the road
the cobbler say's i'm looking for my strings
somebody shouts, a cigarette bud is what i'm searching
but
i know what i'm really looking for ........
inside me i'm whistling:
"somewhere they called it marijuana
somewhere they called it ganja
somewhere they called it hemp
it's the best looking plant,
it's the sweetest grass"
.............akhu..............fades..................
for myself, romstone and naobi
not walt whitman's grass
they said i look and behave like poet
i know what's their point
all the comrades i saw, talk hell lots of shit
but dont know how to button their shirts
i went to the lady when i had enough of this world
the lady in white, leaning on the wall
pushing out her well curved breast
put her hand inside it like she is gonna give me the best
there she took out the brown small envelope
like a sweet sixteen giving me her love
i got my sweet grass now in my hand,
on my nerves, inside my veins
words start fighting for better rhyme
music notes floatimg in the air like widows' hymn.
my fantasy to fall in love with a widow
i can see vividly through my broken window.
she completes my incomplete poetry
she points her finger to a fallen leaf, said it's the poetry.
she lies down on my wooden couch
that i got, all the way from mandalay, free of cost.
her perfect body waters the dry leaves
the lazy soul wakes up like spring trees
and i said: "sweety!
will you be my honey?
will you show me what is love and not love?
what is the height of heaven, where is your white dove?
the silence comes knocking on my doors
the sweet grass gets washed away by the cry of jim, the doors
i throw away my smelly blanket
i peep through my window with my swollen eyes like a bat
the world is flying and shattering into pieces, the driver was overdosed
the poors, like butterflies, are colorfull and me, still a yellow rose
i throw away my smelly blanket
i shave my head and have a look at my cat
she hides her tail like a coward dog
i shout at her: dont you recognise me, bitch, oh! god
my neighbours are watching me cleaning my smelly shoe
wondering what a change in this world of akhu
i lock my house of leaves of grass
not walt whitman's poems: "leaves of grass"
i walk down the narrowest road
so that i dont fall down on the road
the cobbler say's i'm looking for my strings
somebody shouts, a cigarette bud is what i'm searching
but
i know what i'm really looking for ........
inside me i'm whistling:
"somewhere they called it marijuana
somewhere they called it ganja
somewhere they called it hemp
it's the best looking plant,
it's the sweetest grass"
.............akhu..............fades..................
for myself, romstone and naobi
