I have reached my destination; I trace calligraphies. My quill seems to pour its ink unto the banks of the Tanganyika Lake. The sacred place, to which from the other side of the frontier, I confined my boredom …
Category: Poetry
Humanity
Political isms for sale
For somebody to make tale
Humanism is but a name
An echo in a crowded silence for fame
Is humanity to see?
Children wedded with misery
Sick and drunk of poverty
Refugees in their own land …
The Myths
We feed from myths…
Myths against good and evil …
it is only a trap for humanity never to trust each other….
A trap for the naives
A myth is a tool only to manupulate
for it to operate it …