In twilight’s fading glow, a voice stirs unseen,
It is the song of those from shadows gleaned.
They Walk with broken backs, hands worn and bruised,
Society’s edges, abandoned and used.
Is justice but a whispered prayer in the dark?
Or does it stand, a flame, a fierce spark?
To the powers that sleep in golden halls,
Hear now the cry from those who crawl.
......
Cyril Ramaphosa
his voice box sometimes goes hoars-a
swallowed a Cheshire Cat, great white smile
running miles keeping da Amerikanos on the dial
Ear pain—
invisible
When heard.
Quietly read,
Its title hides
In public—
so as not to offend
The fragility of the powerful.
......
It's been a long time since I heard your voice,
Meanwhile I was totally disturbed by everyday noise,
Your voice rang in my ears like some sweet instrument play,
I melt as soon as I heard, just like water to clay,
Your voice echoed in my mind like am in the mountains,
Happiness sprayed out of my heart, just like water from fountains.
Praising you is just few words lined but still sweetness of your voice can't be defined.
Voice like yours, one never did I find,
Girl you are one of your kind.
The moment your voice I found, I felt myself crowned.
......
the voices said
there's nothing like
waking up deep into the night
and not hearing any voices
and I believed them
Ear pain—
invisible
When heard.
Quietly read,
Its title hides
In public—
so as not to offend
The fragility of the powerful.
......
Cyril Ramaphosa
his voice box sometimes goes hoars-a
swallowed a Cheshire Cat, great white smile
running miles keeping da Amerikanos on the dial
Who can detain me?
Unless I allow myself?
It's all right in here...
As I stand, a poet in an ocean of words,
Unspoken feelings, unheard verses surge.
What is this craft, this calling to write?
Is it light for others or my own plight?
I pen the tales of others, the struggles they bear,
Yet each word I write is a weight I wear.
To live, to serve, to break free from norm,
A poet’s life—a perpetual storm.
......
In twilight’s fading glow, a voice stirs unseen,
It is the song of those from shadows gleaned.
They Walk with broken backs, hands worn and bruised,
Society’s edges, abandoned and used.
Is justice but a whispered prayer in the dark?
Or does it stand, a flame, a fierce spark?
To the powers that sleep in golden halls,
Hear now the cry from those who crawl.
......