A WASTE GROWING UP WASTE

To the stolen world. To the soul of shepherds.To a waste growing up waste. Back in the swing of being lost in heavy wrong you cast aside  tomorrow.  Down by the path to a  market place  we bring rain out of season spread into reason.   We bring seeds. Seeds like flowers in holy virginity about to fall off.  To the stolen world. To the soul of shepherds.  To a waste growing up waste. Back in the swing of being vain, your blind mind decayed beyond decay. Down by the path to a market place we bring rain out of season spread into reason.   We bring seeds. Seeds like flowers in holy virginity about to fall off.   Like a mountain you sat wild. You sang mad from yesterday after yesterday. We saw bowls. We saw roofs. We saw papers.  Then we saw nothing.   You made the sun full of grief. Light on the colours of heaven. Do you not hear the womb cry?

 

Ayo Ayoola-Amale esq.

Muse of Poetic Harmony of Africa.

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