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Chege Mbugua Poem
Poems, prose and roses
Poets hate politicians
Poets prefer poking pens at people
P-words, power and paupers
Poets love writing about love
Tears, the sky and meadows
Poets are prostitutes
They are sex vendors
They expose their naked thoughts
To the world
They talk dirt without apology
And care less about anyone's emotions
Poets are short-tempered like a mini skirt
Like a G-string, there's a thin line between poetry and bigotry
Poets flaunt their innermost secrets for attention
Poets are prostitutes
Because poets are deep
They spread carnal diseases
Such as satire, criticism, rebellion, revolution, philosophy and the worst diseases of all:
Human love and hate
Poets write out of need,
Self-righteousness, lust and malice.
Poets lurk in the twilight corners of solitude
Under the street lights of obsession
Poets are a minority group
Protesting for equal rights
And recognition of poetry as a profession
And they claim poetic license
Poets sometimes render their sensual services
To ingrates who refuse to pay attention
Poets are often sneered upon in a hypocritical society
And a critical clique of readers
Poets get arrested at night
As this is the time when the goddess of creativity is moaning with faked pleasures of expression.
Poets **** you up for fun.
Writers are whores
Who lust for the misery of others
Their pens drip at the orgy of words
They write from different positions
They milk rhyme and reason dry
They suck life's dictations
Until the truth 'cums' out in torrents
Poets at times endure penetrations of mediocrity
And implants of other people's labour
For the sheer ecstasy of public approval
And literary glory
Poets can rob you of your money
By sweet endearing words
So you have been warned:
Beware of these brutal bards
They can easily elope with your spouse!
Copyright © Chege Mbugua | Year Posted 2014
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Details |
Chege Mbugua Poem
I am a child of the palace
Living like a slave
So that these human can relate
That fate
Never comes in a sliver plate
My life is great
No spoon, give me a spade
I am a winner without a race
A stubborn stain you can’t erase
I am known without a face
Set free without a case
When I get lost
I’m sketched and never traced
Too believe or not to
Is a choice
So to me, God is a choice
That inner voice
That refuses to shut up
When nobody is listening
Life is not a math problem
So I never looked for solutions
When I smile, it means I’m happy
When I cry, it means I’m alive
I was born
But never raised
I am adored
But never praised
I am a child of that palace
Living like a slave
So that you can relate
That human are born to be loved
And things are made to be used
But now things are loved
And you and I are being used
And now we are confused
Over what we’ve become
Objects of envy hate and blame
I am a solder without ammo
I am the white keys in your piano
I am the fragrance in your flower garden
The only blessing from the curse of Eden
I was schooled but never taught
I was fooled but never caught
I was hated but never abated
Betrayed but never delayed
Discriminated but never serrated,
Crowned but never celebrated
Mistaken but never regretted
I am a nightmare
That was never unrevealed
I am a gift wrapped up in a small curse
A jewel in life’s golden purse
A bird with wet wings
Waiting for the sun rays
So I can fly
And dance in the sky
I am the mirror
The reflection of what I am
And not who I am
So who am I?
Copyright © Chege Mbugua | Year Posted 2014
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