A true poet does not bother to be poetical. Nor does a nursery gardener scent his roses – Jean Cocteau

The following is a poem from __lon’s draft__. Mad talent, and the style is just out of this world. And this is not his best work (according to me) but I promise to bring you more of his work when I will feel like.


Where are you from stranger
And you have traces of craters Sank in your eyes, still
Pupils hanging on the whites of mountain peaks
Worlds locked in those staring sockets
As if not to blink the view away

Indeed, where has thy soul been swimming
Titanic ocean
And you are lipstick-colored still
What has thy heart been kissing
What that mouth tasted
Shores and beaches of Red seas

What have you been drinking stranger
Now that you stagger like a fire flame
Natural liquor, hot lava, ash and magma cocktails
Beads of sweat cascading down your brow, still
Rain drizzling down thy nostrils
From which cliff is that waterfall
Toes and nails in that polish-green
From running in my meadows and
Clawing through my jungle

But sir,
Observing the earth’s facial features
I Walked on her face
Sorry for the spots I left on the escarpment
I might have stared too hard
My jaws dropped somewhere in the valley
And I lost all teeth (will the molar grow to an oak tree?)

___lon’s draft___


Quote: With all the fornication, lies, hatred, abuses and other sins i dare not mention that I have committed, I have to be on the right side with the church and so I will vote ‘NO’ – Kimut.

Definition: Alcoholic: Someone you hate who can out do you in drinking – Chiira.

Hero/Zero:  mich Very Nice, Good, Smart girl whom few understand. That is just how she wants to live her life……enough said


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