Poetry taught me how to pluck bullets
from scars of my genealogy
In the process of turning tears into ink, I realize
there is honor and horror hidden in every soul
The backward mentality of a hard-knocked life, is for architects and disciles of laws
Breathing is a hustle when the mind is screwing to regain its virginity
You think tragedy is comedy, I think poetry is philosophical nudity
Skeleton and grinded bones
Earth and sandy seeds
In between, war and slave babies
Man and norms of madness
Poetry gave me the third eye
through which I could see the unseen
But if poetry has lungs
what is left for the poet to breathe?
I use the teeth of the pen
to scratch off my inner pain
Sewing emotions onto logical costumes
So my consciousness can dress itself in a chaotic gown of perfection
Lamin Drammeh, 14-05-2020. 01:15
Inspired by a chapter in the book "The Awakening of Intelligence", by J. Krishnamurti
©lamin
L