by Samuel K Akinbo
Published on: Jul 21, 2007
Topic:
Type: Poetry

tell the wind,
to cease his motion.
and rub love like lotion

Headed head,
cry in jagged edge hole,

Full loaded city,
now mourn the steps,
and noise of his beloved

Cows lost their horns
Kings lost their crown...
imagine! the mat seller
Now sleep on bare floor...

An ocean was just created,
a pool on anguish and sorrow,
dug up by sword of vandal...

A lot of black attire merchant,
now makes money,
all in the name of mourning

I wish all hear these,
if so,
can I borrow your tongue.




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