kreativpolycap

Chugging up beer sure feels liberating Spasms of electrons all over you, this is exciting! With hormones racing you'd think a teenager Feeling so strong I could cameo in a masonry excerpt Rampantly moving around in attempts to stand out I stall! I can't take it anymore, it feels stupid A tosspot to be precise Was it fun? Did I feel happy? This is me attempting a number ten on a dictionary Randomly picking words Ten words to piece together to have a play I get to seven only for number eight to be uvula! Am left twisted like a black haired lady Trying to pull out a colored weave Am just a boy looking for happiness In words that cannot spell happy Chug, electron, hormone, masonry, rampant, stall, tosspot And weave All I get is 'chemistry' and so is happiness Fluid it should be, to pass through all crevices Cracks and crannies of life's worst and best So happiness, true happiness is found within. ©Krv_080616

A jar full of water cannot take any more water Pour it in the empty cups; I need to get more water Or should I grab the other jar I need some of that fresh water! Even the cups get refilled only when empty This was a conversation among the utensils at a dinner table! Of how the glass jar looks bored Forced to serve the master who barely touches his drink The rest of the containers are being ferried on and off the table With a different drink every other time they dock. They feel refreshed, Unlike the glass jar who still hasn't moved an inch since That's the story of a jar and the family at work Its spout is often just a fraction of the lid! So how do you give thanks without giving? The lid serves to allow a lot more water in And pour just a little out through the spout To stay refreshed. So in order to receive you have to give, just a little To stay refreshed. Be thankful. ©Krv_080616

Is it Black or White? Which one is it! Which one is alright? So let's say am white...But you are black! There, right there! What? Why do we have to argue over colors! Yet each of them has its uniqueness And again, are just colors! So le'me try this again, Let's say am white... Am I any safer than the other colors? Probably not! Every color on this palette will one day end up on some canvas Or a wall, may be a line on the lashes of a beautiful las Maybe become the mystical colors of the sunset Or the skin tone on some blonde or a brunette A redhead or some whacky afro head whose curly-haired neighbor Thinks he invented the Afro! Some nut case eh! Same as this nut job trying to con me into getting some change Only to reappear on the next corner acting strange Because now he is being wheeled and cannot utter a word Not even change! Do you ever ask yourself why things are different? Why black is dark and why everything bright always looks white! They al

You wake up to her cry Try to snooze away but she keeps trying Trying to have you hold her, talk to her, talk with her How you ask? She gives you the world and a lot more for you to add To your solitude since that is how small your circle has become But with her you are fulfilled She loves it when you touch her Swipe her dress to ogle at her lingerie For here the entire world comes to bring their folly They troop in masses to pin their notices Of how well or not life is treating them They feel free having their linen out here You hesitate! Cover her up hurriedly to answer a call A call of nature, she speaks to you, you speak through her Then you rest your anxiety and keep swiping, touching Tapping... But it is only a phone Your phone, her phone, his phone and every other phone Taking you to a world of information Laying all the good and bad to you in split seconds This is the information era Like the other eras past, we live for now But we are alone with oursel

She fills the room with her glow Her narrow smile So precise Just enough to have you wanting more She keeps a posture Even when it's just the two of us She is composed Calm and collected I often feel we've just met For when she stares at me Is as though she is looking through me Reaches for an embrace As I creep closer to her We lock in glance Her bright eyes turn teary Her dimply cheeks glistened by the stream Flowing down from her already reddening eyes I offer her comfort Wipe her face and hush her to sleep I stopStare at the empty ceiling as I recall her story Her pain Her strain that she tries to mask away by her wardrobe wits Pain of her childhood ordeal Of how she had to be a woman to her father Of how her peers looked at her with disgust Laying blame on her for not being a model A role model to her younger siblings But to all of this she chose to be meek Always keeping a smile on her pretty face Forgiving all of them Even though she knew no

Am addictive Am a disease to you For I will cease you So bad like the bad habits you keep committing Thinking you are alone and self-righteous But no! You are not alone Am right there Next to you when talking to your shadow Yes right next to that piece of stone That piece of cloth That piece of habit you won't let go of Right there pleading with you to listen But my voice so small you hardly notice my disappointment So small so soothing so comfy so much that you still disappoint me Am only like a ring to you That's right The only thoughts of me are filled with confusion Confusion from the things you never knew Things that now you know But since am a disease to you You only want me gone Disappear like a bad memory But no! I am right here Right next to this bad memory you lost Yet you still want to pick it up For you like your bad memory You my friend, you are lost Unable to find yourself So who else should do it for you? Yet am still here Right nex

Hallo my dear mum Your background is not as clear That was one of the numerous phone calls An international call from her student son The son is viewed by the village as their first breakthrough child A sponsorship beneficiary. A village so far away The only time a vehicle muses by Is when the weather does a number! Or two on the bad roads, Miles away! So the background commotion During the phone call Was a mechanical voyage Through this remote village. Somewhere in this forgotten settlement Lives a young man A lad, nothing more than an elementary school goer! With big dreams for his home His lone mentor! A shop owner Whose main product of sale is? Anything but a profit earner! Why, you ask? He lends products more often than he sellsBut to the lad He is the only person in the village That has an office-like set up Other villagers are peasant farmers And clothe mending tailors The lad always revered the shop Since he was always sent To pick supplies on cre

credits to photographer A rare place! The one space I seek solace Here I find myself in nature For it takes me away to a distance afar Yet so near, I feel it is only here Egoli A Zulu name A place of rare enchantment A place of Gold My place of Gold I find the triple-edged bridge The bond between the three self's in me Here the soft wind whispers a song Through the dewy leaves the shrills are made clear The little flying twitters cannot hide their excitement A chorus is composed With rhythm so soft I only play audience An orchestra of nature I stand and take stage With every swing of my thoughts the rhythm switches To high and low in successive transitions, So clean you hardly tell the drop from the rise. I stabilize, And let nature take its course Peace at last! krv_300516

He is surrounded by all these friends They like him for he is of good company Maybe he is welcoming Or maybe it is the endless tales That he keeps regurgitating every so often All the attention, the warmth! But does this really bring him fulfillment? Whenever he recounts the tales by himself, He knows only too well that none of it is true! His inner being wants to end this streak of misery But to let go of the attention feels even worse. So he resorts to keep his company But give tales that lean towards his reality The friends keep coming though they do not stay as long as they used to Fewer friends come by and without knowing he is left alone! Where did they go? They sought refuge at the other friend who always wanted the position he held! He had tales not so interesting but just enough to keep a group on their seats Is it that nobody wants to be told the truth? Are you afraid of being alone in truth? So the young man and his newfound solitude discovers a place of

Echoes of Mercy, Whispers of Joy Give name to this Being The unseen Giver of all that has meaning ‘The fear of God is the beginning of all wisdom’ Says the word of Old.