Treasure Island

Ahmad Savage

(04 October 1992 / Banjul, The Gambia)

A Friend or Fiend?


Many a man are a wolf in sheep clothing
Many a friend are nothing but fiends
In morn-tide they wear the broadest grin
And in night time commit the most evil sin
Why should they practice their sorcery on me
And stuck a pin on a voodoo doll
And all my names therein they call
To cast a spell and make me sick
And tie my bones and make me weak
Then in the morning, that brodest grin
That even remains after such a sin
How can you stab me behind my back
Even knowing the room is not dark
Yet that is not what makes me sick
What makes me sick is your smiling beak
That keeps on mocking our so-called friendship

Submitted: Tuesday, January 31, 2012
Edited: Tuesday, January 31, 2012
Listen to this poem:

Do you like this poem?
0 person liked.
0 person did not like.

Read this poem in other languages

This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.

I would like to translate this poem »

word flags

What do you think this poem is about?

Comments about this poem (A Friend or Fiend? by Ahmad Savage )

Enter the verification code :

There is no comment submitted by members..

Top Poems

  1. Phenomenal Woman
    Maya Angelou
  2. The Road Not Taken
    Robert Frost
  3. If You Forget Me
    Pablo Neruda
  4. Still I Rise
    Maya Angelou
  5. Dreams
    Langston Hughes
  6. Annabel Lee
    Edgar Allan Poe
  7. If
    Rudyard Kipling
  8. Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
    Robert Frost
  9. I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
    Maya Angelou
  10. A Dream Within A Dream
    Edgar Allan Poe

PoemHunter.com Updates

New Poems

  1. Lullaby, Richard D. Remler
  2. The final sentence, s yadu krishnan
  3. Rhythm's Of Propensity, RoseAnn V. Shawiak
  4. PREDATORS 10 WORDS, Beryl Dov
  5. The two laughs of a toddler, Kaki Venugopala Rao
  6. *IX*- To Love, Leslie Guylee Cron
  7. Making A Nation, Tony Adah
  8. Two Moons, Akhtar Jawad
  9. If James T. Kirk wrote a poem, Gouda Moon
  10. Who wants that Catch-22?, Mark Heathcote

Poem of the Day

poet Alfred Lord Tennyson

It little profits that an idle king,
By this still hearth, among these barren crags,
Match'd with an aged wife, I mete and dole
Unequal laws unto a savage race,
...... Read complete »

   
[Hata Bildir]