Beam's Collection of Poems
A broken – beams
Oh – Oh! –
I’m dry – I’m dry
My broken spine
My stolen might
My fallen knight
I’m dry – I’m tried
The root of my life
My – beams of glowing light
My pride – my desire
I’ve tried… with drained rights
To dissolve my crimes
To lit my blindness
To create my rhymes
That’s a crime…?
My desire… my bride
Arrive with heavy strikes
I cry…
Bear my fight
Bear my tribe
My rising tides
And prying plights
Bid me smile, that
I – will shine again;
Make me flame
Like sunlight rays
Make my dreams beam
Full to the brim –.
With that I cry…
That I fear’s
My flooded tears dropped!
In every fall…
In you I have a ‘court’ –
that I’ll beam again
I’m Beams
A dirge to my honest bloke
You were a star
Starting to shine
The night withdrew your rays
The days redrew your tales
The wind your fears
The sun your tears
The rain – mustn’t
Wane your prints
The sun’s lost its way
The moon’s taken its place
But is drained from rays
The stars blind
My scars bound
The world mourns its soul
This blood, this incense
Born gold for your own
When time and thorns crawl
Let me see the crown
Resting on his soul, from his toil
Let me mold the bones
Which – the vultures, the scorpions,
And serpent can’t crack
Let it serve me a souvenir I had a folk
Though it frosts beneath the trees;
His blood is worth a tree of seeds.
Life in the eyes of a child
I saw the sun of the universe
Before I was born
I saw the thorns of the universe
Before I was born
I read the norms of the universe
Before I left the womb
I saw the plights of the blind
The cries of the tribes,
The crimes of the rich,
The heaviness of the human hearts,
The home of the doomed,
The horror, the torture, the puncture,
The programmed series of stress,
Everyone comes to face… I saw it –
I saw chains on my fellow preys
Before I was born
I saw dislike for my – sort
Before I left the womb
I saw millions of my type
Buried in the womb
Not this very one is safe
I saw – tombs in wombs
I was still in the womb
Prey for an uncertain doom
I saw heads of my sort – beheaded
For famished grown to feed
Before I was born… I know
That is where I’ve come to pace
Before I was born – I had formed alliance against them.
Externally displaced birds
Poor birds of the air
I hail your tears
From lumbermen wishes to
Displace you from your home
A tree of hollow nests –
Made to your best
From feeble beaks for you to rest
While feeble rests
Moped about for bread
You’ll sing back to your nest
And face the great despair
You saw the men of ‘saw’
Their blades of horror –
Were tales from your mum –
Now you flap and flap your wings
To rest on the air
And it denies you of your strength
Then you flapped away
Next to make a nest
‘Cause you just can’t rest
Without some stress for a nest
Lonely birds of the air flapping in the air
- An externally displaced bird.
Words for the Soul
The world has grown its wings
The world is ready to fly
Grandpa has grown enough gray
Grandpa is ready to die
Grays has no place in this world
The toddler has endured much hunger
The toddler is ready to cry
Hunger has no tribe in this world
Though I’m a bride
My hustler-suitor has no tribe
Brides are gold
Let not yours be stolen
The sun has forgotten its home
The moon will take its place
The moon has bought a new torch
A new torch from the sun
That can never burn
We are both going to be gone
When the gong growls
With the voice of the town-crier
That our rent has expired as tenants
Inhabiting the earth
Tenants have no home –
It is advanced homelessness
And even imported poverty
The rain has reigned for ages
The crops shall sprout with pride
Joy–shall long for Farmers
Farmers shall dig with pride
But it is still hunger
If the palms that are armed
Cross our band
They shall turn–Security for our bands.
Our friendship–shouldn’t be threatened
With words
Our brotherhood–shouldn’t be burdened
With lust for gold and lasses
This nascent matrimony –
Shouldn’t be nurtured with non-trust
All you ever feel, see or hear
Are all nomenclatures when
It’s a second old
You grow old before you
Realize you’re still a toddler
Leave behind good wishes
So you don’t have to rest in pieces
But with – kisses!
From your – folks– if not one!
© 2018 Ebizimor Boloukie