International poetry
THE YESTERDAY OF TODAY
In the dark-less dark room of trees
Our minds saw and look,
But little did we say with our ears
that we saw today in their yesterday.
The smoke was our daily salute
A shadowless date tree in a desert
We shed our leaves and yet we shed our tears
The only beauty we held was our gift of gab.
These palms are reflection of cracked history,
where rights and norms were nurtured as mystery
The result where guilt dances on the orbit of our skull.
An invisible epoch, where vernacular was ostracized
We were left with no today
Like we were born with mental impairment on our eyes
Forgetting that our yesterday and today are two peas in a pod.
We tried making a mountain out of the molehill,
Just the same time, our day rulers paid the bill
Of who and how the who made it how.
There, we lost our resemblance to pretence
Our today was buried with greed a day before
in an open and naked catacomb with loaded rags
We waited for eternity with hope
of resurrection of light
We were branded to take in the quinine
with the inscription "we are making you better"
But they were just gilding the Lilly with refined dust.
They spoke plain but it was Greek to me.
I await the moment
Where we will hear the blended voice of a fontonfrom
revealing through it's narrow voice a tone of
FREEDOM.
©Adatsi Brownson
🗓23/06/2018
~ The PenmAn~
In the dark-less dark room of trees
Our minds saw and look,
But little did we say with our ears
that we saw today in their yesterday.
The smoke was our daily salute
A shadowless date tree in a desert
We shed our leaves and yet we shed our tears
The only beauty we held was our gift of gab.
These palms are reflection of cracked history,
where rights and norms were nurtured as mystery
The result where guilt dances on the orbit of our skull.
An invisible epoch, where vernacular was ostracized
We were left with no today
Like we were born with mental impairment on our eyes
Forgetting that our yesterday and today are two peas in a pod.
We tried making a mountain out of the molehill,
Just the same time, our day rulers paid the bill
Of who and how the who made it how.
There, we lost our resemblance to pretence
Our today was buried with greed a day before
in an open and naked catacomb with loaded rags
We waited for eternity with hope
of resurrection of light
We were branded to take in the quinine
with the inscription "we are making you better"
But they were just gilding the Lilly with refined dust.
They spoke plain but it was Greek to me.
I await the moment
Where we will hear the blended voice of a fontonfrom
revealing through it's narrow voice a tone of
FREEDOM.
©Adatsi Brownson
🗓23/06/2018
~ The PenmAn~
Comments
Post a Comment