Cladestine

THE CHIMNEY The once fine air, refreshens with dust Between the village horizon and crest Since the sailing of a death chemical chimney. Young green plants seedlings growing on slope Are left to sip these carcinogenic dusts, sapling And entwined between vague horror. A river source, from Stone Age Which flows across diverse tributaries Serving the peasants on their farmland is poisoned. Four volumes of epithet, like Magna Carta Have they dispatched across the ocean To the Emperor, who drinks refined water. On deaf ears fell those laments Empty promises stacked upon ridges Brazened with irksome polices. There lies a mother and her apple Confined to a red, long stretcher Spitting out venomous blood, gushing. The bourgeoisie of this death chimney Had threatened to lay low The figurine of an opposition. What colour of sky remains left? For the helpless peasants on their land When their green plants have all wiltered. THE EMISSIONS They have sailed to their rivers mouth To collect the last drop of moving waters. With their jar tugged upon their heads Supported by strong, thick wraps. Drop after drop, one after the other Their jars are filled to brim, unfettered. Those once clear waters are heaped With Marie Curie debris of emissions. The smell of it chokes between nostrils Sinews and veins. But Curie linings are white A discovery to save mankind. Their only hope, Lazarus last crumbs Or they dehydrate in scorching sun. With seedlings on their tired backs They climbed mountain tops, heaving. Hoping someday, the sun will shine Shine upon their red pale faces. BREXITISM The common faith of man is hanging On tilted ropes. Tickling by the dunces of hour Mingling among ashes, sour. These hopeless ropes are robed With helpless, seamless rods. Encasted by some supercilious heavy weights Who felt Europe is sucking their heights. That blonde ruffle neck optimist Waggling his neck like a bell fry Consider less the thoughts of many Lazaruses Taxed by heavy fines. With allies, close fiendish weeds Growing defiantly among the scripts. The grappling end of their tail Will be met with rebuked tale Brexitism. CONSTITUTION Where are the grey hound hair That scribbled the commandments of men. Whose noses bridge across four forlorn Constituting nuisance. They scribbled them in their inner rooms To benefit their heinous acts. SUICIDE I've seen him breezed, head buried Among foggy peats. With faint smiles captured by heat. Sauntering round the garden, trembling As if lost in dark shades, grumbling For a miracle or two upon, stumbling. An old folk in his prime reminiscing How the bitter spill of life Has forsaken the last hunch of strive. Gave him an olive, though without a penny For same fate abound with us The little drops of worsened misery. The head has ignored the feet Wandering in this lines of heat Striated with stripes and beat. That same morning, chirps of birds Heard the sad news on tabloids The wanderer is tilted to fan blades; suicide. Tear drops, drop tears filled my sockets Like pool of river washing the shore What a life, a mysterious end. TWISTED Twisted fate fade my faceless face With feign, faded, fameless flakes Fecunded by second thoughts Of shapeless happenstance, rots. To mark the memory of thick bark lace. The elergies between the gongs and flutes Resonates across the sole tide water pace Riveting through streamlined edges Bordering macadam of streams Across the shoulders of whims. Death, the patches of fallen decayed leaves Injected with toxic venoms flux of auxins Sombre my mind with undaunted memories Of calumnies, whims and caprices Which our hands refute to breach. Saw cold ices of blood between their eyes In a moonlight stance Dredged at sight, middle of rivalry Feeding on bread crumbs, gun shots Hoping to sail home unbridled.