Faraj Nyandiko

Behind Closed Doors

Saints are busy masturbating
As heathens spend vigils exorcising.
Husbands are battered by wives,
Innocent souls lie slain with knives.
They dine and throw parties
Behind closed golden doors
While here, deep down the shanties,
Our own blood trickle on floors
Because of their political games.

Some smile on the way
But it doesn't go a long way,
Worry swallows them by the day
Somewhere behind closed doors.

Often they floss on the streets,
These proud and beautiful ladies
Yet cry rivers under their sheets,
Some desperately need hubbies
While others just can't bear babies.
Men will thump their broad chests
And show off their bulky wallets,
But soak their pillows with tears
At night over guns without bullets.
Why do hidden strengths and fears
Often come out behind closed doors?

Submitted: Thursday, August 07, 2014
Edited: Friday, August 08, 2014

Topic of this poem: art

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  • Gold Star - 12,853 Points Chinedu Dike (9/11/2014 3:56:00 AM)

    A catchy title. Yes things are not always the way they seemed to be. It's a very nice poem. Thanks for sharing and keep it up. (Report) Reply

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