Just amazing how we can know the stories of the past and use them to write the stories of today while trying to tell the stories of tomorrow. #writerslight #word #poetry #art #beautifulmetaphor
Let a soul speak through a pen and paperLet souls show us what was beforeLet souls reveal to us what comes afterFor the moment we focus on the present form.©micheal_word
"I played with fire–just to get burned."Lubabalo Sayo
"she turned tears–into teaching tools."Lubabalo Sayo
"I can make you feel–happy, I can make you–act strange, I can make–you tell lies, I can make–them act kind."Lubabalo Sayo
"open and close,open and close,open and close,open and close,such simple and so wooden."Lubabalo Sayo
Repost this if you like♥️#art@miraquill@writersnetwork#pod#wod#tofeedtheworld
TO FEED THE WORLD...
On a contemporary place,a land of proximity,for smoking kitchens and graves,heathen wanderers,a toast shall be raised,pursue your senses, of immoral tastes,follow me to my solitary hearth, and repeat this grace.As dreary days, will dishearten your faith,culinary ways of mine, will surely save,and gratify a milliard souls, I will be feeding,what empty bellies would crave.The pungent desires, of the heart,will function as a sprinkle of seasoning, to furnish the flavour of my art.And as long as the world, does not acknowledge me, the sizzling fervor of mine,will continue to linger, up to your throat as a curse.A host to an uplifted spirit,I longed to fill, a stomach glutted with lust,so you could, discern and observe the work of,two wicked hands from the start.Nevertheless...don't tread on my obscure lanes,O sombre listener, opinions may rise,because the present aura clearly reckons... delightful smells never fly.They say, the aroma of hatred, can take forever to die.As for today, I am someone,preaching inadequate tales full of lies,a vagabond, barely carrying,some provisions of a single night.The scene, might manifest it to you.Starvation was, and will always be on my side.Though...beholder of the strong will,I own a nature of persistence alike,to the desperate character,of a vicious circle of labours on strike.My infuriated blood, someday,will unleash me to liberate myself, off the chains of my impaired rights.For, this ambitious little entityharbours an enormous hunger inside.So, let the word spread,of a colossal buffet with an open invite.I shall, concoct the cuisine to feed this world,with the most, luminous flame of my pride.©tanoz_for_real
"the only thing my heart–has, are these sound poetic–lines that can cure the lame –and paint a picture that's vivid–enough to heal blindness."Lubabalo Sayo
I love this one, it just hit right #writerslight #word #poetry #art #beautifulmetaphor
I write and write filling my room with notepadsI Feel like I am getting nowhere with sharing my piece of mindSharing my peace of mind seems to be killing my mates peace of mindIf I keep on writing I feel I will end up with just me and rooms filled with notepads.©micheal_word
love under the bed.
"I love you more–when you're covered–with spider webs all over–your hair, and dead cockroaches–under your skirt."Lubabalo Sayo
"now as my hope–touches down and falls,who will help me to rise off–from the grounds of despair?"Lubabalo Sayo
For me to arise from places of grime– And crime, multitudes clothe their– Offenders with tires and exposing fires to– Their flesh, losing me to their own disturbance. For me to acknowledge the sounds– Of destruction and voices, chanting 'Azania', I wasn't there at all. Justice rose, laws subdued against despots, Which altered their ways in politics. For me to cry and let out tears, That are induced by my arise in places– Of grime and crime, the objection against– Despots, at present, they bear upon– My power to rhyme in these lines, For rhyme, to arise in an upper stage– With calm and love, to raise a well poet, For these afflictions of my place of arise, Had an ability to shake off my rhyme.17th Nov. 2020Lubabalo Sayo
My Eternal Song.
From the hollo of ma– I was attached to her so much, An elderly brother from above, Cut the umbilical cord, I was baptized, Houses and Heavens rejoiced, He quoted a text from a thick and dark book, As my hands clinched the pieces of the Holy waters, He laid his hands blessing altogether. For my Faith that was ingrained– Inside the land of my spirit, Shall never be wagged by any related– Carnage of the Serpent. My temple was not built to savor– Hard liquids and tonics, Bringing the demise of my own Faith, My temple was not made– To be responsible for behaviors of fornication, For the temple it is too young– And too wet behind the ears. Shall myself take a sinner's advice? For it will route me to vice.Sayo LubabaloSept. 2020
My death and cameras.
I am governed by fate,fate which ablate,as time goes, we abate.cameras are unnecessary,those who use them, are adversary,hanging our portraits to calvary.my downfall shall be known by those who are close,placing their cameras, to act like conenose;later, evoking about my melancholy,and give birth to folie.my anxiety of cameras is sturdy;for I know not which photo–will be addressing my death.I love cameras, I hate my death.2nd October 2021Sayo Lubabalo.
A soulful life needed.
"it has been a good deed to kneel to me;for my knees to enjoy the soil that was blessed,to close my eyes before, and expunge my sight,and feel my fire elating inside, and overhaul my soul." Lubabalo Sayo
My Letter to Her.
all what's good in your eyes dies early,they queerly came by–and your gingerly love laid surly latterly,leaving your heart flabby, in pieces with no aby.they saw more of your twins than your true smile,you saw their true smiles with grin, as they inchoate your aisle,and you cried,and they confused it with joy, but never clied,they lingered,and you snied with tears walking on your chicks.21st Nov. 2021Lubabalo Sayo
My Mother's Kitchen.
A little place by size;Filled with plenty of vivid memories that apprize,Her pots produced aroma that do not seize;Evoking stomach rumblings that do not ease. Spoons that soothed the smiles of the broken;Hearts and souls, caused to rejoice beyond her ken,Gleaming bowls that provoke one's hope;Imagining the food along the throat that lope. Her teacups grants solace to one's sorrows,And bask from one's afterglows;Teakettle and bowls filled with overwhelming kindness–That correlates with their avidness.Her kitchen bears gentle dishcloths–That wipe away unclean broths.Her door is blushing from halting the aroma,Later coercing her kitchen to coma.Her kitchen stove gave birth to many hands,Even brought infants to unreachable islands;Merely living in drought and scablands,But her kitchen was able to deliver viands.15th Oct. 2021.Sayo Lubabalo.
there's light, where there's darkness,eyes can't bear your potential into understanding,but comfort yourself with your own efforts;painted windows blinds you from your meaning and truth.you can see how dark it is in the night?but forgetting how it will be so bright in the day,the sun will shine brighter than that candle you carried last night;painted windows blinds you from your meaning and truth. our eyes bear nothing but false truth,but our hearts know the truth and our meaning,our hearts are hidden, the truth is also hidden;painted windows blinds us from our meaning and truth.Jesus Christ's windows were never painted, and He knew;He was able to penetrate and feel your meaning and truth,but with these poetic lines, we are able to define our truth–through painted windows which blinds you from your meaning and truth.16th Oct. 2021.Sayo Lubabalo.
A grave of my happiness, Dilution of sweetness and bitterness, A trammel that brought together– Men into their everlasting sadness. It pleases the eye to delight, Instead it kept no light, It led them to wretchedness– Until the verge of His Second Advent. Freeing the innate desire of man, The heart rejoices in fraud– Accomplishing its plan, Later, receiving its laud. My testimony of love, Hope flee away like doves, In which they rove– Observing this trove, called love. Love, hurt me love– Hurt me till my blood come out of my scars, Love, heal me love– Heal me till my flesh cleave to my scars. A lone man, delighted more than me– Giving me unneeded duty to do, To conserve love that do nothing for me, Only dragging those to their old fado. My time is little for your childish things, Perhaps, you cannot wangle any of my feelings, And I am away from your tiring rings– That bind me in many losings.21st Jan. 2021By Lubabalo Sayo.©lubabalo1
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FOR FEED I HEAL
No one listens but my pen and paperNo one listens but my digital notepadOn my phone always going deeperFor my artwork aiming to fill media feed.©micheal_word
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You can only fake it for so long eventually the time will come where you will have to prove yourself. Words will only get you so far and your actions will be tested. The weak shall be separated from the strong.I guess that is why they say life is a b!$@#.©grossett1