Poultry
My, my! What a life! What a life! Bred to breathe A moment, It passes by In a shuteye, And then I realize I am picked up To be ground In a machine Yet again; Did I not just die? Why repeat the cycle again,
Spokesman
Don’t link people with me, I represent none But one, That’s me, You see, I am my own spokesman, Who speaks words, Which sing of birds With a curse To never fulfill each other, I am a murder Of hopes, On the ropes Of defeat,
Rafa: My Story Book Review – John Carlin
Get to know him better! If you are a Rafa fan, or even if you are not, you should not miss it for the world. The modest superhuman has a side we didn’t know of, and Rafa My Story introduces you to the real him.
My Mask
Break me apart, Tear into my soul, Teether me away, Crumble me till I let out a teardrop For it is in such moments I am divine, True to myself in my truest form, Vulnerable, Breakable, And yet undeniably powerful, And if you wish to
Slaves Are Us | Following a Flawed Age Old System
What is the definition of a slave? I Google it and it says “a person who is the legal property of another and is forced to obey them”. In my head, it wasn’t any different either. In ancient times, Pharaohs had people do their job
He is a Poet
Not hard to make a poet cry, He is already about emotions. Tears race inside his soul To find the outlet of expression. He can already see With his keen eyes, The pointlessness of the thing you hold dear, How when you tighten up your
U B U
Careful laughs, Uptight walks, I am no stranger to the business of love, You don’t have to pretend To be loved, Love happens when you are you. Don’t hide behind gaudy masks, I want you bursting like a bubble To my candid talks. I wish
Nature’s Song
How do I find you our nature’s song In the din that man has created? Chirrups are clouded by whirring fans, Muffled by burring engines. Rustling leaves have a fever today, Sea is mourning a demise, Rivers no longer gush Without fishes to rush to
Band-aid
I have wrapped a band-aid all over my body, Coz it hurts everywhere, But I don’t heal like people often do. I carry my pain like a parched woman Carrying a pot of water Miles for her children In a deserted land. I don’t know
Beautiful Things
Is that you? Or just your wish, I can’t see past the thick layer of dust Behind which you stay hidden, Don’t you love yourself? Coz I do, Like every painting of my impeccable creator, You have been gently brushed with the finest skins And