Dankaro Osazee Poems
|2.||When We Meet Again, To Part No More||5/17/2017|
|3.||Congregation Of Fools||5/23/2017|
|5.||Dead Man Walking||2/27/2015|
|8.||To Juliet, My Love||8/22/2016|
|9.||My Pastor's Wife||9/26/2016|
|11.||Of Despots And Slaves||8/23/2017|
|12.||Let My Head Be||8/23/2017|
|13.||For Francis Jude Omoto (1982-2006)||12/18/2014|
|17.||I Watched Him Die||8/14/2017|
|18.||The Bottle In My Head||8/8/2017|
The Bottle In My Head
There is a bottle in my head,
Whose lid I keep tightly shut.
But even with all my might
The gas within, long over full and bubbling
Still try to get out
Though I do not wish it to.
Because, for every whiff that escapes
Out comes biting cynicism and a disgruntled personae
For every puff, a physical out lash is the result
Of anger and rage and madness.
Perhaps I have kept the bottle for too long
And its contents, my despair, has festered
Frustrations, disappointments, anger, malice
All mixed into a bitter foul smelling gruel.
Maybe it is time to let in ...
Dead Man Walking
On the discovery of my death
Do not make any noise
Do not cry, do not weep
I did not die that day.
When you see I no longer breathe
Do not be saddened
Do not think, do not meditate.
I did not die, I did not live.