I will probably write a poem
to hang this evening till death.
No hope that it will survive
the harassment of time unkind.
Else,I kept this evening for you
but you have lost the reason to take it.
Wish those days did not change
and I had no reason to interpret
what you say and what you mean
and what you mean but never speak out.
Wish I did not buy that instrument
which only increases the distance.
I could then arrive to your door by walking
to give you no chance of saying any excuse.
But most of our wishes are not fulfilled
so I’ll not move and allow this evening to perish.
via Death of an evening.
I don’t believe
I’m going to dye soon.
Actually I don’t wish to dye now.
In fact I don’t have any reason to dye.
I don’t,don’t, don’t.
I hate dyeing.
my hairs are still black enough.
But this is a crazy world.
People are dyeing everywhere.
No age bar for dyeing
Red,yellow,black and white
Anyone dyeing any time.
Dyeing has become a fun almost.
N.B- There is no typo in this poem
Please read this poem once again.
After reading it as it is read it again replacing the words
dye=die and dyeing=dying
Mind is preparing
so ears listen to
so far been unheard.
Not to disclose
it is to be left for you must
for a better work I’m told
is done this way.
I met this man
or exactly not so
in a busy market place
a face in the crowd
aged and about to retire
worried and truthful
agreeing no more
to carry the bags of vanity
my ears listen to.