A mantra of hope, he chanted strong, “This too shall pass,” where fears did belong. Six moons have waxed and waned since then, Yet hope’s flame flickers, for
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It is simply because he is rich. That is what vexes me I have endless friends who are not my friends, so much as the friends of my income.
A brush of skin—warm, delicate, alive Carried the quiet trace of exertion and anticipation. Beneath linen veils and the hush of night, We wrestled with restraint, While
When the thread frayed in foreign lands— In China, where silence grew loud, In Italy, where hope dissolved— Our hands forgot each other’s warmth, And we stood
*Day 16* Ululation in the Shadows When I reached the place, We were bound to carved stools, In the heart of a round kraal— Its walls were stone, Like
Beneath the towering, shadowed mountain,The king has entered his ancient hall. His greatest enemy—the fearsome dragon—is slain,And so shall all who threaten him fall. His sword is keen, his spear
Where dawn first traced the contours of clay,And time unfurled its long, deliberate thread,Africa woke, in gold and crimson day,With voices rising where the past had bled. The fathers
Why is it that when you ask A man to write a poem, His pen spills only the ink Of his deepest, hidden truths? Here I sit,
Father said,There’s a way to writeThe end of life—Even when you’re still a child. Mother said,Go out and dance.And when you meet your bride,Don’t shrink—speak your truth. But here I
Time is not a surface to skim—It is a depth to wade through slowly.Not the polished verse of campaign songs,But a cipher, waiting to be unraveled.Pause.Linger.It was never meant
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