The Third Guy

Of the triad I am the oldest And it seems natural That I am the poorest. I swapped churches And stop going altogether I start pilfering And now I’m a Robber. For nothing Would I blame you Thou who sitteth On the fiery throne In heaven And makes my only home Your footstool. Africa! My homeland Sure is that side

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Green in your eyes

You believe the grass is greener? I asked a friend who had told me he was jumping the fence to move to the other yard where the cow’s mouth never stopped chewing. Convinced in his ways, he laced his shoes and was heading to the fence as a first step of execution. What he failed to understand was that the

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New thing

New thing came and overwhelmed the emotions for old one; dwarfing it in the process. But old thing had feelings too so it cried; seeing no shoulder to lean on it dried its own tears. Only to move on to become new thing to another; making the old thing shed same tears that repeats the cycle. Submitted for Thursday Poets

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The DJ’s wife

She was alone by the bar in a crowded dance hall. Wondering how a woman so pretty could be in the company of loneliness, I walked up to her with smile so warm as blanket in a cold winter night. She initially looked stuck in her track; later we went to the smoking room sharing a stick and heartily chatting.

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