Poetry Bulawayo

Image - www.mobiletoones.com A flush flood carried This picture here, now half buried Corrupted color, soiled but a treasure In this moment I wonder about a stranger Dead or alive? I don’t even know that much Could have been thrown away in drunken rage by a failed lover Or thrown out of a wallet, stolen by a pick pocket in a rush. Stolen by the wind perhaps to parade wonder Or in teary lack of courage to tear it An image of a happier times, with one departed Is this that one whose rumors I chanced? That one who had an affair Or that one now in jail Or that one who killed a girl Is this that one now in a wheel chair That one bewitched That one who had become rich Is this the picture then Used to bewitch them?

 Image - forcoloredgurls.com  I am and individualist, a lover of nature I like to gravitate and settle towards what rightfully and strongly attracts me, were the truth is better than a make believe. I do not need to be in a desperate haste, were some succeed in desperate enterprises. I don’t need the hectic soup, with ingredients of imperfect, that inflames the tinder of a mortal brain. I am an individualist, curved by troublesome insistence and conscience. with pain shall I erect a heaven of blue glass over myself, disposed to strive after perfection. I am an individualist mixed in the thrilling and glorious hours, that surges my heart with surface feelings. for no man looses on lower levels by magnanimity on a higher level. I am an individualist who passes invisible boundaries, were there is an incessant influx of novelty into the world. Where the bottom is solid everywhere, were false finders find faults even in paradise. I may not be extravagant enough...