Gustav Klimt, The Kiss,




Like doves that fly by in pairs,
Let those that see us praise.
Lovers that brag of knowing love hush now, silence.
Not does the baker parade with bread,
Nor the tinker with his pots.
Love is best enjoyed in silence,
When wolves howl not,
Witches and wizards when they slumber.
Like imaginary dreams of riding wild stallions.
Love is like Gustav’s the kiss
Let it walk your imagination
Step by step,
And savor its scent in grave quietness.
Like a kiss love is enjoyed with one’s eyes closed,
Loosely shut like a maiden smelling a daffodil.
Slow, slower like an oiled flowing stream of Arabia.
Dance not in our praise,
Nor carnival like in Rio.
Let’s like a candle in pitch darkness burn in silence,
Care not of the wind,
Eyes far in darkness will sing
And their shades around us dance.

And for us praises they will scream.

The Births



From when the sun sets,
Twilight in her golden dress departs.
Birds set for nests
Waving farewells to a day that melts
Into a time of slumber,
Pillow talks marshmallow soft
Salted laughs shared in exchange.
Touches and caresses as tender as a serpent’s deceit,
Bodies be one,
That time when clouds in darkness hide,
Camouflaged by night’s tuxedo.
Thoughts separate like fingers,
Fingers that explore under nylon sheets,
Tickling nipples like blind hatchlings
Till in months after,
Babies rain.

When am i going to see you again


We were strangers,
Whose sights seemed related.
That day by the mill
I remembered your scars,
Like I pictured my birth
Yet with inaccurate thought.
I heard my mind race,
As your breath’s warmth
Reached for my eye as you blew.
It touched my adrenaline’s youth,
I stood glued to imaginary sanity,
So why do horses run in my thoughts,
And why now does looking back become a nightmare.
Was i lost or was I in a dream,
In dreams people fly,
Like paper kites only to fall in a storm.
In dreams people are rich,
Only to rise to a stink of the old screaming bed.
But I saw you,
I felt your lips,
And your tongue’s tip
As they sealed like a concrete.
And sight of you became a harmonica,
That once blasted in prison,
That month I there grazed
I see you as much as I hear it.
Measure for pleasure and toil,
All is and always will be at par.
When am I going to see you again?

To the American Soldiers that there died.


When the reaper halts taking the young,

And the Nun’s death prayer for the youth heard no-more.

Then i like a comet will ignite.

When the young draw the funeral curtains,

Muscling digging cold graves.

And the old under funeral palls rest, smiling

To a life well lived,

And there in a peaceful depart coiling

Just like nature intended.

Then i like a hobbit will run the streets,

And there my harmonica joyfully blast.

Singing farewells to the gory sight of a youth’s grave,

The sad wail of a teenage widow.

The whipping orisons from muzzles of sin.

The Afghan dust,

The suicide bomber’s chant.

The death of innocent juveniles

No wars, no wars, no wars chanting

I will blast loud,

Like a trumpet of Revelations.

For wars will away journey

Along with the death of the young warriors.

Rest in Peace.

My Africa


How can i forget,

The sweet caress of the African sun.

The cool summer days,

The sobbing winters.

How can i forget

The singing voices of the African Swazi virgins

Dancing with reeds around their proud King.

The ripe breasts of Lesotho maidens,

The firm thighs and tattooed faces of Zulu beauties.

The respect of the Vemba,

The Chewa’s dances,

The bow of the Shona women,

And the dance of the Tswana of the Kalahari.

The smile of the Ethiopian Nuns.

How can i forget,

The chatter of the veld monkeys,

The stampede of the migrating wildebeest,

The songs of African parrots,

The trumpeting herd of elephants,

The hoot of night owls,

The cheetah’s sprint and the springbok’s run,

A magical wonder.

How can i forget

The starving children of Somalia,

The strangled masses by a poverty noose

The dying, the lost and the forgotten.

How can i forget?

My Africa.

My dream of Paris

I walked with a smile
Down the orchard paths of Paris gardens.
Birds in the fruit trees there sang
To the sweet ripening vines and peaches.
Untamed zephyrs caressed my face
Like the coax of an Indian conjurer,
The sweet scent of vines danced in my nostrils.
Farewell i bid to the African dew  ,
The buffalo calls,
The laughing hyenas and wa-hu of African baboons.
The stench of African slums
And the curse of drunk imbibers of sin.
Slowly i walked on with a smile,
Bees and bumbles there singing,
Paris women with me walking tall.
“Comment allez-vous” they say
Voices coated in sweetness.
So still here i bid adieu,
Farewell the scotching sun
The African songs
And the unforgiving heat.
Let i in this dream ensconce.

Portrait of my lover


If my lover could be a war,

She would be the gory war of Sparta.

Like an Amazon she wilds up,

And like a jade calmly calms too.

Her words are vile and brazen yet true

Like a serpent’s kiss or a baby’s kiss.

Her cuddle so cold and prickly, confusing

Like a porcupine’s embrace.

Loving her is so wrong, at times so right

For she knows not pity.

Yet look here i stand glowing,

Like the devil’s firefly.

She with her violence soothes me, redirecting me.

Her cuddle is cold but my haven,

For she holds me when i sweat hot

There my sweet comfort slumbers.

Pity she knows not,

Against the tongues that us try to part.

Her touch is a comforting caress,

Her smile a beam of wintry warm sunlight.

So i care less of the world’s voice,

When  my lover it mocks

I am the one loved.

After the Votes


Time here stands,

Posing like a careless harlot.

Chariots to nowhere pass,

And at shadows our fear’s ghosts wave in silence.

We run after them,

Shouting in support.

Them like the Noble avoiding the earth’s filth.

We push, and push.

Chant, and chant more.

Till victory falls for them and they dance,

After the dance, the wind with them away journeys,

Like day they dress in thin air.

Till when we vote again,

And we start all over.




I found it

I found it on the accused’s lips
On the surgeon’s blade
And the doctor’s stethoscope.
I found it on the barren woman’s nipple.
The farmer’s plough
And the atheist’s face.
I found it in the weatherman’s eyes,
The undertaker’s smile
And the soldier’s dreams.
Yes sir,
The people are afraid.

Lewd lines(Finding Paula)


There she lay in peace,
As if by a surgeon’s medicine sedated.
Calm, confusing,
There she lay all spread
Like a bride’s gown
Like she welcomes the day’s breeze
That touches her thighs.
There she lay carefree,
On the river’s sands.
Her breasts a perfect pair erect,
Her nipples a sight soother
Similar like they bore one another.
Will you picture her navel,
That there rests like a gold mine of Orion.
Or like a royal’s diamond crown
As it sits on her belly that lacks fault.
Is it the sun she enjoys,
In such open nakedness.
Or the day’s zephyr.
Is it the singer bird’s song she hears from the woods where I stand,
Or the wind’s gentle whisper.
Far are the bright city lights,
The church knells,
The carols,
And the Preacher’s calls.
Here Paula rests lifeless,
Found, by me
God bless her Soul.

Moment of demise


I have been in love with death,
That calm moment of demise.
When body and soul part,
And all ends.
When life departs slowly,
Like a dripping stalactite.
I have been in love with moaning,
And silent wails
When a being there rests
Lifeless in a wooden cascade eyes shut.
Garlands laid and velvet palls there spread ,
That silence in the cathedral
And the piano gently weeping
The flowers scent, the burning incest.
Bless, bless the preacher prays

North and South(Passion’s Death)



Let i ask Thor
With his bolt to separate our worlds
You take north and I on south root.
Let I ask God,
To wave his magical wand
So you be fire and I water.
That if in each other’s paths we cross
There shall rise a brawl.
What pain is this that burns,
Like the blazes of Rome.
I shall this carve on my southern city walls

“Feelings lie, eyes see wrong
Hearts are easily enticed.”

Let I ask the sea,
To between us flow heavy and wave like the triangle of Bermuda.
So vessels and feelings there perish.
For how do I stop loving,
When here the same breeze we breath
And on the same soil walk
How can I stop loving you.


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