We grew bored inside Imprisoned within these grey walls, mere drizzle acting as our jailor Naturally, we hatched a scheme to escape. We waited until we could no longer hear the bullet-like rain on the glass door And swiftly left our cover Running through the sloshy grass Avoiding puddles laid to trap us. We breached the wall of trees, the smell of rain fresh in the air A loud crash in the distance tells us our absence was noticed And the guard would be swiftly on our tails. We took shelter in our tree house The breeze friskily feeling around for any intruders And while it was certainly safer indoors The excitement of adventure felt more at home. Inside our baobab palace We overlooked the land Lost in ambitious conversation Until we saw the birds fly again.

Whenever you leave In anticipation of your return I leave my doors open I know it’s a bad habit But I always do. These open doors invite dust I like to keep tidy But as long as my openness invites you I’ll bear it Watching the sand in the hourglass fall. Did you ever say you’d return? My friend erodes from being exposed so long It seems I have become the hourglass I sit counting down the years Until the sand we let it blocks my doors.

Pictures worth 1000 words Soundless arrangements of pixels Try not to forget your best moments Take a picture, it’ll last longer I don’t remember much from that night I usually stay in, but you invited me out They hired a Photo Booth And Four Moments were eternalised First, a silly picture Heart glasses and big red lips Ear to ear grins As thought the foreshadowing was intentional Next, one meant to be serious Monacoes and proper posture Fake moustaches and curled lips Shoulder to shoulder Then, arm in arm Your whispered an unrehearsed secret Hair covering your face While mine was stuck crescendoing to disbelief You drew me in for the last Eyes shut Those same red lips covering our lower faces Your red lips covering mine

Hands outstretched The only thing to grasp; my escaping breath How did it come to this? It would be a stretch to say I don’t know Though pushed into the deep end, T’was I who approached the depths The plunge is only natural. Father Time stretched a hand to me, but seemed it futile, leaving Mother Nature to her cause Her embrace smothering. I hear the sound of the stretcher Overlapping echoes Flashing lights Hands all over me.

New Year, new empty promises New love, new loss New hope, new disappointments Put this renewel under microscope Same old, same old. Whether it’s love for the game or love for the culture You always come up short. As we march away from our history We relive massacres of old-new Women still trampled Rights thrown asunder Withering almost seems appropriate. We draw from the fool Gambling in futures we have no stake in Housing cruelty and deeming it the hand we’re dealt. Borderline seeking permission to grow While our numbers grow out of hand All in accordance to a higher vision Yet God forsaken What are we, but children of this world? Pity for our Youth Tainted by sins of their father Adults bear blood on their hands For the sake of endangered lives. Independent yet incompetent The troubles of our forefathers Reluctant pride of our peers Kindness encouraged is no common interest. Was not there a harmony before history was rewritten by victors? We live in our alternate timeline Truths overlapping Same old, same old. Stricken of the fruits of our labour and scorned for irresponsibility Only a goood wouldn’t consider thieves and protect heritage from our fellow man. We entertain the act of humanising monsters and declaring peace times Ambition, delusion, censorship For, what is a monster? My time of creation and completion Each passage a reminder of impending end And though it is but one life We always get back on our feet. We celebrate the same old traditions Fall to the same mistakes and despairs Tales old as time forgotten and revised Same old, same old.

I’m truly upside down. perspectives reversed. no wrong answer, Between you and I you didn’t love like me. Though the same lines were said, You weren’t ready. Oh, how I pity you. what you wear. Misplaced trust You weren’t ready. Oh, betrayal! Signs and signals in every line. Are these words to you or for me? It’s hard to tell with these pages. Is this the right way?

Everything happens for a reason The chaos of symchronology. As clear as weather through seasons Oh, beautiful dichotomy! An outcome foretold is not free will subdued Just as forecasts of cold are not necessarily truth. Misunderstanding breeds alienation breeds division as futile as naught Two truths. One occasion. Leave the less convincing believer distraught. 5 hearts beating, 5 souls. 5 paths leading to one goal.

I am greeted before the Styx The ferryman’s barren gaze may bear sympathy in hindsight Nevertheless it’s duty fulfilled And I am delivered where I deemed love lay waiting It was bliss upon arrival My soul wrapped in your diffused warmth Before you ever knew I had came, dancing in the Sirens song. I was ignorant to the ferryman’s silent warning Ignorant to my displaced presence Ignorant to a telegraphed fate Ignoring all signs pointing elsewhere Mortal bodies were not made to embrace your raw warmth Just visages of your love were fierce enough to burn me up Before I am turnt to ash I shall return to the heavens