abbas abubakar


Enough


Enough of those jagged rod
Chopping off our intestine
Enough of those tuneless music
Burying the berries of our band
We have built mansions of patience
Whose walls are now been cracked
By the concoction of your bushy rods
Every morn we seek meekness from the sky
But our wishes, our strength, our strides
Are layed on slippery floor
That made us wade behind our sculptures

We have been crying into our own bowl
Now We understand the prickles in the sky
A night shall come
When we shall visit demons in our planes
And tell them
Gone were those days

Submitted: Monday, September 16, 2013
Edited: Wednesday, November 20, 2013

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