Texture of grief

The texture of grief.

In her subtle search for sophistication and something more,
 she was bitten by the creepy wasp of the enthralling internet,
Then she knew her soul is being sold to things words can't imagine:
The good and the wild.
She rant on impulse.
Vanity spat  its venom on her skin as goosebumps,
Less likes on her pops make her smiles halt ;
leaving her joy on a sad cause,
Her happiness now hinges on mega bytes;
Your admonition on her post to bury her milkshake encrusted gold in honor, she disdainfully bites,
Your sincere comments on her wayward projectiles leave threats and spiteful remarks on your wall;
She took off her elegant covering and sold her security and value for a piece of shame.
Her soul became a bin of societal litters,
Everyone with a kobo can now lick her,
To hop and hump your bed for the wads make her tinder;
Drowned in brown bottles;
She became the sepulchre of unwanted seeds,
She became the refuse  dump of contraceptives
The  signature of greed,
Her bags are notched with dysentery;
Trotting unregistered colored cars round the megacity to nibble her mega chickens,
All she sought was that life in Utopia,
Just like hazelnut on bloated  cookies ;
 it came crashing and crumbled.
She got the  apparitions of her inglorious grasps for the wind lurk around her thin shoulders and long velvet cladding,
All she wanted was to come online and spice the timelines;
But the skeletons of  her nude and messy drops oftentimes pummels  her slothful pulse.
To have led such a forlorn life of incurable thirst and want, is to have felt the texture of grief
🙅🏻‍♂
©fireflies and bumble bees
™Tom

Phew!

Epitaph

Boom!

Like shackles strewn on a might man for doom

Puff!

Ears drooling of wools and soul in mortality's cuffs


Phew!

Dreams infested with boils as darkness drew

Spits!

This pitch black pit of void and foil refused the sun to have its haven lit.

TOM.

This mind leaks ...........

Empty hands

' First, I took first '...
Mama held my hands high and swayed my report sheet like a duck gracefully glides on water

I barged into his corner but he was not there...

I stared at his portrait . His fine stub and clean shave spat his several lessons on cleanliness on my slate
My twin  tower of my pride and confidence diametrically  caved

My sophomore years were years alone
I watched men hunched by their kids
I searched right and left in hope of his blazing white collar that echoes his amiable presence.
But  Mama filled both parts.
She joggled her work shifts and the need to care for me.

Sometimes , I look out  and spoke to his absence; create his effigy:
I draw his own very frame , plant him a moustache and redress his stubs.
I wanted him to come and speak those words fathers speak to their sons.
Words that convey maps, the shape of stars and the linings of the galaxies to the ecstasy of a curious boy.

And now I became a man.
Never had the privilege of cuddling him.
Have him pat my back when I excel in my class,
Or have him cheer me up when I fall in the attempt to scale the hurdles of life...

On this very day I wanted to ask him all the questions in my heart;
He already kicked the bucket.
Tom👻

Deep

Deeper,
Sharply curved like brooding palm fronds ;
Her accent brawls high like raucous billows of a raging wind,
Poise so proper
Pain knitted behind the soul of her feet,
Life got her spines propped against the walls of gagged expression.
Her own voice she sniffed  like a dog petrified by its own bark.
She stood on the stage of solitude and rehearsed into the void...
She knelt and wept , bruised herself with  the detritus of the fallen mirror and wailed:
I am woman ; I am not the weakness of manliness.
My face ain't for your fist cuffs  to stab like like the abhorrent flashes of neon lights, nor my belly for your feisty punch,
 but my back ,your fingers to moistly tend,
my spines your arms to lift;
 and my torso your palms should nurse in strides, as a skilled brick man  lays shiny cobble stones .
Tom👻

Sepia

She veered off the rail of elegance like a cookie cartwheeled by sinister flat tubes of wantonness


She went on and on
Until,
Like a pack of virulently shuffled card in the numb numbness of the motherless night,
Her gait crumbled.....

She was the queen of my heart but the King of all my sorrows....

Tom🤕🏄🏽

Festooned

She ran her shrunken fingers across the stains on the apron of her effort ,
Like a child in a rare admiration of  dirt's glamour,
She dipped her crumpled thumb into her sooted tongue and licked the juice of grief ...
She wondered why her frantic efforts at life and enterprise  never earned his emotional comfort nor his conscientious goodwill...
Nothing has changed except hope...
It appears cloudier...
©broken verses
™Tom

COWRIES philo baba

Radiant cowries of the esteemed African pride 
What a wonder at your prudence 
As a virtuous bride 

For centuries, you were a potent economic catalyst 
Measuring the value of exotic wares on behalf of our kind ancestors 

Your skilled painting in crystal milk by nature 
Gives you a cosy look 
A symbol of peace, respect and sincerity, 
Immersed in moderation 

When haggling the cost of wares 
with the invisible hands in splenetic cum jaunty interactions. 
Mindful of the gain of each party in the raucous discourse. 
Distant from greed, extortion or economic vice apparitions. 


Your weighty size 
Emboldens your image and stand 
Amongst numerous currencies of the western world. 
Your  glistening skin and serrated button, 
encrypts the world in speechless glue at your sassy outfit 

Your inbuilt gift of mesmerising versatility in purpose 
Diversity, 
Declares you a wonderful socioeconomic device by nature to several merchants. 

You give lustre to the tunics of hunters 
And 
Exquisite antiquity to the modern day fashion 

Kids are kept at sea at your glance 
Elders pay homage to your ruggedness and durability 

The world salutes your unique frame 
Held in the palms of our agelong descents,yet, you remain the same.

You are indeed an ancient seed of awesome merchandize and ritzy fashion.