A PIECE FOR THE CRACKED HEADS

This poem does not have any gods to worship nor any ancestral roots to trace and follow. This poem knows no grammatical boundaries and abide by no poetical laws. It has defied poetical kings countless times and has encrafted bravery sprinkled with disobidience in its footprints. This poem was cooked and boiled by poetic thoughts so deep they turn hellfire into a holiday resort. This poem refuses to be classified by industrialists academics and authors into any form whether epic or otherwise. It knows no rules and laws of rhythm and shadows of rhymes. This poem asks no permission to knock into your house and does not amount to constitutional protocol. A poem that is an obligation of no religion and affiliates to no political party but walk in their dimension like a dictator. This poem hardly notifies legal frameworks and utters to spit bile at basic ethic fundamental laws of nature. It has positioned itself so it can be allegic to critics cannot be touched by analysts and is dictated by no reasoning. This poem cannot be unchained by academics but only by cracked heads who have bathed in tripple boiling waters of poetic streams.

THE LOST SCRIPTS

Melodies in my memories gone down the drain
Papers in mountains stacks that have come down and caused me pain
Showers monstrous in size swiped them away in quite rain
Demons so friendly have eaten them starring at me with a meticulous smile
And I am reminiscing at their golden contents which was to be my pride
Unlocking every door in my memory in search of their sign

Traces traces aluding me I am a lost course
The zillion pound worth words inscripted that I have lost
In my sleep they haunt me like a vengeful ghost
They beleive I was careless I was not paying attention to logistics
Scripts that stripped naked bodies of overfueled muscle politics
They have unleashed wrath upon my memory I am all agonistic

Lost scripts tainted in ancestral bloods of the most powerful tribes
Sprinkeled with urine of crocodiles and strengthened with elephant spine
Content drugged with creativity and drunk with poetic lime
These scripts that built marvells way beyond man's imagination
That have blessed babies with ability to found art of determination
As I bow down and rise again hoping my pen will cry in their dedication