The dead moon’s framed portrait Hung from the prussian blue sky, Staring downwards into the Lighted lonely city – With a well practiced air Of indifference.
The pond with green waters And a cemented bank, Where local kids wash their feet After a football match, Has fallen silent at this hour Flaunting unabashedly a cheap replica – Of the dead moon’s yellowing portrait.
On Gods mighty canvas The midnight sky lit up by stars Mythological creatures lurk about the universe Voodoo witches busy brewing magical spells Astrologers write the faith of man Trapped in a confused state Seeks the help of fortune traits
The oil came deep, from underneath. the earth could bleed, her blood was black. But men knew not___ they pierced her skin. It all seemed fair, but deep within. She cried aloud, and gasped for air. They took her oil,