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The stream (all workshops)

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Stop this BIAFRA

Oh hail Biafra
For it is the origin of my father’s long actualize
For how long will it take for freedom to speak
Go tell the pregnant country that the time of delivery is now
The north don’t want you, the west either

Come together, come as one
For a single stick from a broom does not sweep
For oneness is like the sky above indestructible
For I can hear the cry of the passed heroes

Dream

I’ve touched success root.
Everyone’s desire is wealth ,
But never under estimate health..
For happiness is what we seek,
Perhaps deep in a dream I was.

Dream seems to be just,
But disappear like dust.
Everyone is a dreamer,
Only some reveals like drama.
In silent my bed talks ,
And in private my pillow interpret.
For I am still listening,
Until my dream comes true.

Goodbye sweet companion

On the vale of thorn abreast we ambled.
Un-frazzled, to the hawthorn we held.
Though a twinge we felt, the haw we sought and
heyday we dreamed of.
Out of vague future luminous dreams we hewed,
though nadir soared, and hope in the depth of sea
of cruel fate brawled to emerge, but with verve
cocooned in glaring dreams firmly on the part to
heyday by grass of murk overgrown we trod.

Polarized Perspectives:

All the world's A stage
As we rage and disengage
World is more a cage

FEELING YOU

I look up at the stars, so high and see
Without a doubt, you’re looking back at me
Tears, like shooting stars, stream down my cheek
My neck so steeply stretched, I suddenly feel weak
I bow my head, drop to my knees in prayer
Thank the stars, you’re watching, from up there
I feel your hand, touch my heart, relieve my pain
As I taste you’re loving lips, kissing me again
In time I know, these feelings too, may disappear
But, I only wish, that I could be, with you my dear
BOEMS by JA 692

Mythology Of Rebirth

Survival of Myths- ala- Modernally
Of Rebirth...

Magnificent myth

No one has ever been reborn
Yes similar avatars/incarnations may be

Poetic Pyramids

Hieroglyphs on my ancient soul
foretell the end of me,
they say I'll die by my own hand
when I’ve reached god status
and every knee has knelt
before me
and I have nothing left
to achieve.
This prophecy has been written
on me for many lives
each ended by a pill,
bullet, or brilliance —
I can feel it.
My fingers are my slaves
who type a pyramid of words
that'll hide my body
in a maze of booby-trapped metaphors
that no thief
would ever dare explore.
So shut me away

WITH EVERY MOMENT LOST

Now with every moment lost
As the wind flip open each page
and each living hope fall to the swords of time,
Life unfolds and bud giving every pod it's meaning
Each distinct, beautiful and ugly in diversity.

Yesterday I had a fine tone
The harp could be traced to the notes and every wonderful strings
that beckon and romance the ear and comfort the sensations,
but later my voice cracked and ebbed between webs of spiders
fostered by 'guilable' habits and addiction and drugs
that came with it's own meaning...

Picture Show...

The memories stack up
each one having it's own place
I can remember all the laughs
each and every face

I didn't take many pictures
of the sadness and the toil
For I'd rather not remember
as I shuffle on this coil

There is enough of grief
troubles and the woes
The world's too short in joy
as everybody knows

So look at these scenes, my friend
see the gladness and the fun
I remember all the good times
we had troubles on the run

Servitudes to pride

Our love, that once like an inferno burnt,
now like an ember smolders.
And beyond rekindle by pride it has become.
Our hearts by pride wreathed,
in loneliness we writhe and helplessly
watch our mirths into myth retract.

Without, serene hearts we feign .
But within, our hearts by shadow of pride
Shrouded, for each other grope,
and to the melody of the dirge of our fissured
hearts it spitefully dances.

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