Teardrop germinates love from a deserted heart

I can’t cry, but I cry my words in speech

Mend my heart with stitch

Replace my teeth with thorns that bleed

Eyes won’t bleed but I made my words cry.





Birth Story

In dark hour my existence

was conceived in secret.

Suspended in fluid like

aqua man, I’ve grown

bored of this cavity.

1989 I escaped from womb,

umbilical chord wrapped

around my neck choking

me at depth to death,

as I took my first breath.

Born in water, I rise like a

baptised child, the doctor –

John the Baptist.


I hear joyous sound but

blind to their happiness

for I am born into a world

of anarchy where protogeometric

pyrotechnic problems are

embedded in every footstep.







Afro and Comb

From the multitude of

strands in my afro

I pick you out as special

with a comb, but

your emotions recede

like hairline

I bought you wings

ready to fly

but crashed my

heart into the treeline

Three-times we dined

I unshackled her

mind six times


Of my character you do

not know, and I yours, but

still I comb you up like an

afro ready to defy;

but you left my heart

soaked in gin with your lies


Here I go, deep sigh,

no tears no flow

as I script my

thoughts so slow

like the sex-drive of

a scorpio.