Sunday, 23 March 2014

8th September 2011


It seems to me that I cannot decide
Exactly what it is that I desire;
It might be that I can no longer hide
This need to light this big poetic fire
Embodied in this embryonic verse
Whose seed has taken root inside the womb
Which shall should it fall victim to a curse
Be not its incubator but its tomb
But only if the curse involved a death
And death kept to a schedule of its own
When targeting somebody's final breath
Which till today has no way to be known
Except when pointing gun at someone's head
And shooting twice to make sure that he's dead.


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