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?
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Comments about this poem (Behind Closed Doors by Faraj Nyandiko )
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
William Butler Yeats
(13 June 1865 – 28 January 1939)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
Mewlana Jalaluddin Rumi
(1207 - 1273)
(27 October 1914 – 9 November 1953)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(31 October 1795 – 23 February 1821)
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