Penning Down My Ownblues In A Birdlike Manner Poem by Sarah Mkhonza

When life changed from blue to red,
Everything became magenta, for they
Say this bloody color came out of war.
This war I have with the spirit in me,
Takes over and the battle of my soul,
Enters another level.

I pray to poetry to save the few who
Undergo the battle of their soul, and
Turn to the world to type a poem, of
Things unsound such as an attack and
A rejection.

I please a few and hurt a few, when I
Spew out words like a hose watering
The plants, hoping a few will live in
These days when we have a famine, for
Love was plenty so they say, in the
Seventies for we loved freely and
Let live.

The rules of the game changed, and
We had to learn that to love is to
Selfishly do so, or you remain alone,
On the bridge to nowhere, for people
Take things not held close to the
Chest, by those who are not keepers
Of their loves.

I learned to cry until I tell myself,
To quiet down for the tears are a sign,
Of an emotion in the air, that will leave
Me to my solace all alone at the end of
Time.

I have learned to ask for company on
The journey, in the chase for happiness,
For it has eluded many, for I swear it
Is hidden in the belly of God,
For us to find in the next rebound.

For those of you who walk the tight rope,
Of life with hands outstretched in the
Dark, don't fall off for it is far down,
There where you will be smashed incognito,
By this thing that irks us all.

Have a good day each day and count the
Seconds you are unhappy, on the count
of five, and then look back and
Count the day as a day of happiness,
For you spent it burying the beast,
Each time it raised its head.

I remain a speaker on the alter of
The Miserable few, who have decided
To equate their happiness, to not
Doing, for to do so is to die while
You still live. Give when you are
Happy, and when you are sad, even if
It is to pen a few words about your
Own blues.

Who said the birds sing always,
For we know when men shoot a few,
They die a death like us, but the
Flock flies on and sings some more,
For not to do so is to be no bird.