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Below is the poem entitled THE LACK OF LUCK which was written by poet JACOB MUTHOKA. Please feel free to comment on this poem. However, please remember, PoetrySoup is a place of encouragement and growth.



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Hours morning, hours evening,
With hope, cling; without hope, cling
Man without shape gets anything,
Yours for pay be nothing,
If you lay on all thing.

The universe is a univerasal daughter,
Each man a piece,
Setting her your way be like the hen in the slaughter,
Visiting hours without learn,
Till others learnt from hers case.

Generation without axioms is
Like the wind. Anything it blows,
Our house it did and burnt our forests,
Lastly barren it went up the skies,
The woman to dance she chose,

She is now dancing. Our waists are broken,
Hers not yet. A connoisseur she's become.
One fetched water in haste. To dance cannot,
Already tired. Done mistakes two:
Bring water soiled, In hurry hurried, now tired.

It be conventional wisdom to eat your nuts one by one,
My professor words quote, good unwanted is 1,
Yet all want record number 1. Who the man
That will reconcile wisdom and application?
Luck be not except ruling out uncertainty to pursue certainty.

Luck be not without crucifixion of big dreams,
For the liberty of slim realities,
Like the party in the neighbour's house,
While mourning be in ours,
Take no jealousy.

I took a piece of meat yonder,
What benefited it me?
The love in a foreign marriage cannot save our hell.
Hail hail hail,
Hail again.

The morning breaks
A monotonous rhythm: black back to back,
The eagle flies east, west the vulture adventures.
One dines fresh, fellow tours the grave.

Do something though nothing,
Cast lot, get one,
A city is built unit-wise not package so,
The tune of our merry, the being of chance,
Sorry to be a victim.

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