Remember the day
We confessed albeit too late
You afar through a network and I lay
In bed talking to a roommate
...
The dying—atop this burning mountain,
here,
espy not the living—beneath this fertile land,
below
...
When you
Long for me (when I am not by your side)
Stretch your sight
To the blank pages of night(I belong to the shades of night)
...
Is it not late
to inspire a dying man,
when he sees ethereal beings
the winged celestial lights? human beings
...
The moon gleams here on the river
amidst stars- varied sizes and shapes
the heavens descend on these waters
so that we may have a closer and truer sight
...
They came to Bama killing
And
Into black flames of hell they went- killed
...
Often a friend wonder
whether pen down this poem?
I say:
...
Poetry I write
Now as always at night
It'll be said when it's right
Poetry's language of a kind
...