Filth, Foul An’ Ferment Poem by Merlin Mwaura

Who loves such things as of the dirt,
scum lay beneath,
hardly a glance rendered at these things.
whom among us, love the down trodden,
the heavy bent,
seeming towards a dead abyss.
Deserving you ask?
assumed maybe....
what we do just usually stand by,
watch a flimsy arm flap for a penny,
And the ignorance hardening our hearts,
make us leave they, the filth an' scum of the earth.

May I seek not the ferment brew no more,
that I might be diligent in standing my ground,
loosen the stagger,
adopt this trance, as that of a stallion.
have I with me grave decisions to make,
what you make of me,
is what i will take.
Two eyes,
two ears,
one mouth...

Eyes to see,
ears to hear,
mouth to speak,
I use urgently in the presence of beauty.
She is a rare thing,
person....that is not my amusement,
but I cannot say, she does not make me merry.
What horrible fortune I would assume,
if I made that mine to follow,
A lie I cannot hold no more.

Foul delicacy,
Cuisine properly employed,
upon once a white cloth table,
some fine cutlery rendered.
Proceed with my meal,
smudge on my napkin...
yellow soup the abstract art,
sweet pleasure to my palate.

A moment alone,
to say tender things,
to here tender ears,
dream not, but be real...
A swam of things make a sensational feel