The G

Oh trade winds
Kindly carry this weighted kiss
From my stained tounge, frozen lips
To the heart of one miss
In the land of disobedience and bliss
For whom a beat my heart will skip.

The auburn seamless flames
From my inner space
Will charr your frosty Crystal waves
And light up her rosy spirit as it reaches her place.
It will remind her of what she can’t see
But I know in it she does believe.

So trade winds, as you crack my lips
And steal the oil from my skin
Suck the life for the land
And blow onto us the coldness from our hearts
Do go with a piece of me
A piece that is greater than the whole
From a wierd and old soul
To my eternal B

From tuffassassin.wordpress.com
I love you g

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Farida

As great tales are never lost
And quick to appear on lips whenever sought
So shall you in my heart be
Although from my side you leave
And join another branch to grow
I know your leaves will stretch like gold
And be the star to direct us all
Just as you directed me even before I crawled
And sometimes it might get obscure and bleak
Stay true to yourself, unique
So in your union let love resonate
For you are our sun and thy light we take
The branch has been extended not cut
For surely it ends where it starts.

Shaded friends

With arms outstretched I welcome them all,
That glide and hide, scurry and crawl
On my crusty bark and tender leaves,
Under my quenching shade and relaxing breeze.

Although my core is old and stone
And I have lost the beauty for which I was sown
I am still firmly rooted and proud
To play host to this lively crowd.

I love the songs they sing with ease,
That draw admirers to them and me
And how they transform my hollowed wounds
Into aqueducts of warmth without a clue.

As leaves fall and layer the ground on which you walk
I know with every look and flash you sulk
How unmoved I am by the company of others
I carry all in their changing colours.

Grains and space

Live free or die
Everybody dies in this movie
All I did, I did for myself. 
I enjoyed every minute of it.
I have never felt more alive.
It exists beyoud that which is visible to us.

Nights

When you love something, allow it to consume you.
Cos when the leaves fall, it better still be with you
Happiness is expensive
And lately I always seem to find myself pensive
Waiting for the sunshine
As emotion is purged
Waiting for the sunshine
To burn my hurt
Waiting for the bronze statues to smile back.
Cos he can relate to feeling trapped
At least his eyes are closed
But mine are wide open; admiring the pose. 
I touch his heart and feel no cold.
God no!
I am his state, left in the cold.
Stripped of innocence
With nothing but dust to form my nest.
Under the focus of the light thief
I shine and postpone my grief.
Peace.

Coffee and Pancakes

To live free as African poetry
And grow untrimmed, chasing the sunbeams existentialy
Is what I attempt to be
As I embrace my tears
In this stone cold wrestling sphere.

Avant Bad

I recently watched a documentary on Jean-Michel Basquiat titled Radiant Child for the umpteenth time. There was a part where he described influence as being an idea from one mind passing through a new, fresh mind and thus presenting a varied perspective of that initial idea.
Creators, no matter how  independent of mind, are always influenced both consciously and unconsciously by other people they identify or share similarities in thought structure and processing with.

Avant Bad is a Jean-Michel Basquiat influenced doodle.