A poet light up a stage
With words as firmaments, from the thoughtful page?
Fork lightening in the captor’s cage,/
As he awakens the beaten beast, with the burden of rage,
Hidden in the clove of a heart
That was smitten by the law’s leachy hands?
Can his words
Bloom under the sun
With petals of light
Shinning on the pitfalls of life,
Grooming and gearing the unborn seeds,
Of sin and the Sufi’s sword?
A poet’s holstered tongue sink inside this urban stink
Rotting in silence?
Burn me candles and incense,
This is not the season of song.
There are dried blood on the lips of nuns,
Guns on the hips of monks;
The burial of freedom in the sea of violence.
Should he watch with muted gums?
Should he dance in denial
And sync words that flow like the Nile,
“Forget your misery people, and smile.
Let my lyrics paint pictures of a distant galaxy
Far far away from our grimy reality,
For the future is a mystery.”
Or should he dwell on burning issues;
Tabloids tales, tears and tissue,
Politics, looting and shootings.
Streets are red, all ’em flowers are dead..
The crippling powers of the feds?
Can his pen flow life into the veins of the dreams,
Of the questioning, confused and constrained teens,
Whom even in the devil’s den,
Aim for the stars that shine brighter than any bling
As they eat from the tables of kings?!
I dream through the eyes of a prophet
And speak with the tongue of a poet.
When I say this
In crystal clear terms’…
It’s us against them!!!
contact the poet: ر Ademoh