Runaway…
Run away…
Run-A-Way…

Run away young black girl
Run away lost soul
Run away till you find a way
To make a way on the run way

Am-I-Great
To be a coach joint to this nomadic parentage subway?
I-migrate
Sitting on a coach couch, nostalgic
I still find not my way

Am I Great
To have these pyjamas sleeping in my suitcase?
Am I Great
To always see this pigheads every 4 years?
Leaping like a leap year
Still, I have no extra day to live at peace but in pieces

As I unpack my photographs
To adorn these lifeless walls
Wondering, am I going to remain
A photograph in this wall street journal?

There is no life here
Bare trees that bear no green leaves
Their derivatives painting the street-tars as snow would
I shall recharge my bat-tarries
Colour this place with Love-Life poetry

As I walk on these streets night time
I get stares from neighbours on windows and balconies
With eyes of zombies
This is nightmare-propelling horror

Am I Great
For being new in this haunted place?
I’m from the Proverbs
But these Revelations are not so kind
Dead fantasies, a fallacy

No new friends
Fate has once again failed me
Fatality of festivity
I Won’t suffer from Metrophobia

My poetry is rising to fame
Upon this snow pages
Mourn of the stillborn.
I migrate.

*Parentage = Family
*Metrophobia = Fear of not reading poetry, but writing it.

[prervious]