THE STREET LIFE

We are black naggers On the street full of beggars Life is hard, making most of us waggers Don’t forget most of us are twiggers So we hit the street, so our babies will feed A day sick, the household bleeds So we struggle with all kinds of breeds A few noble ones, the rest full of greed. At sunset, we rush home with our little vittle Though not enough, it's quite a mantle We would watch our babies guttle A sight that sometimes makes us tootle. We do this so our children won’t end up as street urchins Though sometimes we wished to be consumed in our sleep by griffins, Click here We will never give up, even in our pains For our children see us as paladins. By: Isaac Cobbinah Songs of Hope - Ink of De_Governor ✍🏿️ Melodies of the Heart
22

AGONIES OF THE NIGHT




Oh night, please not again

Can you go and not come back again?

Come no longer if you will bring me trouble

Come only when I am double.

Man has suffered a lot of lonely nights

Chilled, dimed and cozy room

Left to a single soul to stay in.


If pillows could riot,

They would protest against constant drenching with hot tears 


If pillows could talk,

They would speak of the soft moans of sorrows 

And wild proclamation of love words


If pillows could reject,

I am sure they would resist the continuous romantic curdling

That changes to entanglements when the owner realize it’s a pillow


If the walls could hear me,

They would gossip about my sentimental approach

In professing and eulogizing my europhic attraction 

To the lover unknown


If the ceiling could capture moments,

It would take snapshots of my restless sleeping positions


If blankets could testify,

They would speak volumes of my pitiful state during cold nights

How I coil into no shell

Roaming from side to side

Touching nothing but cold spot of the bed and blankets.

No one to dissolve my cold shivers in their hotness

No one to breathe my hot air on as comfort.


Holding hands, watching ceiling, 

Facing each other, 

looking straight into eyesballs

And discussing the numbers of babies we will make;

Arguing which sex first,

Thinking about names of the kids,

Are all but fantasies ending in tears

Internal bleeding is all I get when I open my eyes to see

I was hallucinating and holding bed sheet instead of hands.


Cold wind blowing, 

Take this message to my missing rib

Tell her…………………

“I am shrouded in the shackles of loneliness.

I beg her pardon to come bail me out

From this AGONIES OF THE NIGHT”


By: Isaac Cobbinah


Heart of Words

Ink of De_Governor✍🏾

Echoes From The Past

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