IF EVER TO LOOK BACK

 

To the things I heard I did

This was not supposed to be encouraging

Or? No! Encouraging instead

Which could not yet be this time around, or always?

For the law of vibration

In that I can, some utensils

Like a silver

Wash them to become finally

If you ask my brother

“Do not wash your dirty linens in public”

Which I am yet to do however

Though in private

As to avoid the public after all

If ever to look back

To things tagged shame

Tagged beauty

Needs no wandering to what I would do

For the forward need a building block from behind

Which could be done best from behind, block?

Wait a minute, what if not?

The building may dangle and finally fall on my head

My future so shut

The past so dim

If ever I look back

To the things recorded by scenes and nature

To re-write my story

Which someday my Maths teacher would ask off

And finally get punished by the religious tutor

I could just image myself

As the future walked becomes past

To repair the way indeed

If it’s a rough road

To do some gravels and quota

Yes, to make it the most street travelled by

Yes, I know

Just someday

If ever I could look back.

MY LITTLE HOPE

This only grows in the times the flood run and run over my humble house

Which was there before the dawn of ages?

To serve as a home to all that may possible pass by

 Sojourn to places they would not remember

Talk of recounting a story from here

Where thousands would have slept and dine before

Bringing back home their lost treasures

O f all goods and goodies

So beautiful and majestic to adore in insight

For the kings sake

 

Who would know full well he could possible rule till end

If only I am correct

If it be a plant,

It shall not cease wet

For such make the hunter

Leaving early as he could

To the forest of many animals and things to hunt

But few to lay hands on legally

To remain focus at least

Why

Il n’est pas facile

When great men sit to see

Stand yet you

Not to see

 

My little hope

Which dries in the raining season?

Like a saliva

From the north-east trade wind door post

Which finally happens to wet it?

Growing it little by little

That someday

Rain possibly

It’s all about my little hope.

FOOD FOR THE GANDER

 

Happily as it could be always

For the goose

Surely taking what it may present

When I could possibly see

Days when I did the same

Of taking up Uncle Joe dangling lifestyle

Which I could remember quiet good to emulate

Since some goodies was supposed to be in there

For the family especially me

But not to realise

That what is good for the goose is good for the gander

No, no, no, what is good for the goose may not be good for the gander

When all yield different results

To think or upheld

In tons of thousands

Which only a foolish could revisit

Back when his foolishness is at peak

You could imagine not just good to after all

Since it never promised any good at the end

Oh yes, he did it to become a star

Which only would shoot at dawn or sometimes in the afternoon?

When the sun so dazzles and heats the grounds

Convincing me of the depletion of the ozone layer

Yes! Yes! Yes! Oh, yes

What is good for the goose?

May not be good for the gander