we seek accreditation from blonde tongues,
We prance in foreign shoes to navigate our native paths.
In the isle of lying mirrors,
we intermeddle with assorted wisdom to live in snow,
and spite the cracked whistling wind that hoists the flag of Harmattan.
In the isle of lying mirrors
We frolick the mirror to reflect a white face on a dark neck.
We relish the luxury of slavery in lost lands of fantasies to the warmth of history,
Our misery is posterity left bemused in the game of nomenclature etymology.
Please vote my story Drunken flies http://prize.etisalat.com.ng//flash-fiction/voteall.php?id=1352
Just click the like button with numbers. If your phone says error , just click continue.Kindly log in your fb acct before voting. Thanks
No comments:
Post a Comment