Billy
again and again he has waken
from his coven of dead hope
to sweep the dust and cobweb
hovering over his grave
history is an old child lost at birth
but kept reappearing again
like a ghost denied of heaven
the power room is now a brewery
where drunks meet to toast in royal
highness an orgy of scoundrels
that gather round carcasses like vultures
to gulp the barrens blood as spirytus
billy's an unrepentant wino
billy is a goat billy isn't a goat
and we keep regurgitating his name
like cud in the mouth of a starved sheep
but billy is a dog back to its own vomit
he took a shot again intoxicated
to see the beaming sun as a threat
he folded the lofty sun under his armpit
and we watched as silence become
a golden muffler choking our throats
freedom is now a sex slave a
night fling for the drunken Lord
who will save the sun from billy's armpit?
a rhetorical question woven into the
lines of a poet jailed by his own muse.
©® Jamiu Ahmed
Comments
Post a Comment