...
I munch words, swallow it
and regurgitate it
on the palms and laps
of poetry.
...
When silence kisses
the lips of my larynx,
I'll look into the eyes of poetry
and scribble words buried beneath
the soil of my heart.
...
When the cry of a child
born in the midst of a raging war
in Aleppo,
Pierces my eardrums,
The fingers of my heart
run through the broken walls
of compassion with words
to mend it.
...
I carve my words
on the altar of poetry -
For my words have become
the voices of virgins,
Itching the ears of those men
trying to hide beneath the shades
of their hymens.
...
When Adigun snored his love
for Adunni into the nostrils
of hatred,
My words became the comfort
that mended Adunni's broken heart.
...
My words have become
the serenity for those children
swallowed by the amorphous
dusk at Aleppo.
...
*_My words are the offspring_*
*_of poetry_.*
...
*©Willipraise*
*#World_Poetry_Day*