rancid sighs of a broken scholar,
brandished mockery as a crown -
nerves mined for tributes,
in stale anthologies of frowns.
this soul's a dead man's photograph,
a band of lesser angels in frame.
chose a body to die with and
rode the subtle wood with immortal ones.
wrote a book named 'My Tombstone',
moled furrows in my bones, saying:
'Marry at your prime the follies of yester-years, and
squander your excess peers with all trapped gains and fears'.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Senqu - Life Across The River
Senqu - Life Across The River This is the story of a youngly counsellor working deep in the mountains of Lesotho, to ensure that termina...

-
The Minister for Higher Education and Training, Dr Blade Nzimande was recently hosted for a discussion on the Morning Live - New Age Newspap...
-
Keorapetse Kgositsile The wind is caressing the eve of a new dawn a dream: the birth of memory Who are we? Who were we? Things can...
No comments:
Post a Comment