Ragbag Poem by Idris El Asha

Ragbag

Rating: 5.0


Truth makes cuckolds of us all
It's unbelievable.
It’s like finding a man with your
Faithful wife …in your own bed.

Art is an illusion ought to be taken
Seriously.

Life is a serious matter ought not to be
Taken seriously.

Life is a knotty ball of thread.
You either take it the easy way;
By playing with it. or the hard way; By trying to unknot it. and there's no difference at the end of the day. And better still, You can unknot it by playing with it.

A man is sick, a sex maniac. A woman is a nurse, an angel of mercy, she waits upon him. If he doesn't recover, she tries her hands on another patient.

Common sense is for the common, who have no Sense, and to whom the sixth sense does make no Sense.

Perfection can't be but with a prefect flaw like the Private parts on the human body.

There's no truth, only facts.There're God and Man.Truth belongs to God, facts to man.

COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Allemagne Roßmann 08 September 2012

Facts could be it-this woman is cold and has no eggs to deliver....but when you know truth and have played with it for neon carnal desires to be manly-its too late and it also does not matter for another person seeing or knowing it.He will balance life laughing at someones cries like the way he cried sometimes before and the now sobbing person laughed.This world is like that mirror.It always return back what are facts.Truth is controlled by time.therefore life is a chess game but the end of the day a king and a servant are kept in the same box.Games over.It is like that and seldom matters.Hence we are all stuffs for ragbags one way or the other...Well written and articulated poetry here..

0 0 Reply
READ THIS POEM IN OTHER LANGUAGES
Close
Error Success