Realm of Rhymes and Rhythm

My neighbor beat his wife; his marital gift he pursued with a knife like a thief. Not that her house chores she forfeit, Not that she is lazy, Not because she cheated, Not because she annoyed him, Not because she was tattered Or left every where scattered Not because she broke or left unclean dishes Not because other people beat their wives What if men where in women’s shoes, What if women where the ones to beat men, What if the women where the ones to find food, What of they were the ones to come home late, Will they still complain? Why do women complain about everything? My neighbor beat his wife because he wanted her to be fulfilled? because she is not skilled? why did he beat his wife?

The breezy her left the freezy he And could not save the service He was few fingers away from the ruthless rain. He needed her for the fever. So he ran barely-clothed in the streets. Swinging his merry-hood; to and fro. He came a cross a group of gluttonous ladies (the kind a man can loss his matrimonial muse on), they mocked him. The night was killing him. He wished he’d never melt his mate. …eave to even   “Do you see her?”, he inquires of any one on his way. Again and again, like a mad man he traversed the goings of the streets to no avail. The more he pursued the more he triggers, he struggled and straggled, on and on, his gift of grief – face to face with a fierce fate. Then he found her with his mother… Mother never taught him to beat a woman, mothers don’t – no mother will, never… not even father -   So, he gathered his muscles when he found her…

B lood . T he last time, they ’ d pressed the sharpened points of their sheath -knives into the flesh of thei r thumbs, and let their blood m ingle, and smeared it on each other ’ s foreheads till it looked like burning embers. They wer e brothers for sure then, bound fas t as any natural born siblings. B ut embers turn to ashes, and blood doesn’t

Baba! Go slow Like every driver on a rough route Baba must go slow. Infact, it is better to go slow the right way than to go astray. BABA does not smoke or drink , So have no bills with the bartender But why are these casts all over the bride? To where are they car ry ing those caskets ? Going to the stream with baskets? Baba does not womanize, Does he really d are to b e is nice? ladies who note are wearing a frown He might be late home, Baba do not speed Do not sleep-drive To avoid the dive, Just go slow. Baba is carrying the people’s pride The bride He is expected to go slow. Go slow, Baba…

The bridal head is projected to patch the “ dead-trapped ” paths and not to prod he r nakedness .

it was impossible when the eyes use to see and more impossible now that the arms feel. those who paused our pride for prediction….. making our trust a fact finding fiction. while many believed that we were meant to die the unbelieving Faithfull lie. unsatisfied with their prayers, the team and the players; those who believed unbelievers sure, never believed the deceivers…. for real, it was impossible for fear and faith, too impossible even those who ever believed ever live deceived for the lack of faith, and so, had to wait….. wait for their unfaithful brothers and other children of their mothers. speechless and less ghost goals scape goats cowards in their old ages with unanswered pages those who are about to surrender are just pretenders, ‘cause it is too late too soon to hate.

the coward should not be fed neither water nor bread......... be laid before his table nor meat nor vegetable…….. let the coward die again let him die without pain nor his energy be waste even with a taste. is it that we love to be sad? we love to be this mad! up and down as matters make us frown give him light and he is out of sight, give him hay and he save a day those who go to beg with their hand in their leg, should remember our sorrow in our tomorrow.

She could not clothe the happening within but aired the excitement that gushed out of her guts like an eruption. Too hot it was for her, too heavy to hold. And though she tried to kill, but she was overtaken by atmosphere. She could not control herself; jumping, noising, shouting around like a three year old kid running to welcome her mother who come back from the market. She had longed for this day. She has prayed fervently in anticipation for this to adventure to be auctioned. So in her wide opened arms she embraced the good news. She first broke the good news to her father on his sick bed in his hut. He, in his state swallowed the good news with joy.   “Indeed, God has given me a son” he cried in his heart as tears rolled down his crispy cheeks.

My one wish; to catch a fish has made a fiend of me. Oh, my friend. My joy is in the catch and so it is to watch you escape? and though it saddens to scape you on my hook, yet, i have to cook. alright reserves (2015)

...to terminate traces many has cat cases without phases, neither do they have faces. so, to let the cat out, a pack of proof is needed to ruin the roof and cannot do without...

Asked you for a cake; received a lake,   asked for tea; received a sea, Asked for, - to pay my bill; received a hill, for a fee; received a bee clouded with honey ???…money? How do you expect the men to be low-key when you give money to the monkey and clothe the he-goat with your coat. Those who walk with ants shall be entourage by elephants. on their day That is all you say.