The sinking ship

hith-women-children-first-E.jpegup on the deck, cool breeze fills my lungs. happy? no. Home sick? yes. Rolling deep on the ocean with the ship dancing to its rhythm up and down , to and fro, the highs and the lows.

the stench is up, got to seal my nostrils. Those rotten ocean dwellers , how careless can they be , don’t they know what to do with the dead? That even said where are those sagacious delphinus capensis? Are they not sane no more ?

This journey on water, my favourite adventure why do i complain anyways, why do I sometimes sound the jerk? is it the hole in it? Is it the false pretence of it never existing? Is that the reason for the rage, Or the tragedies that fills my pages in this epic exodus?

the fear of pirates those stinking meaners with a hook of an arm. Begging for arms in arms, robbing Peter just to feed his rotten soul. I bearly sleep, I lazely slumber so not to be caught of guard. Is that the reason for this rage?

deeper I go , how less did I know, when tears flow down my cheek. Is that the reason for these? The rage the fall of stage of the mighty and the great their heads are the same. Sometimes I ask if the world is sane but when I realise my position I know that it is I who is “in-sane”.

titanic-sinking.jpga walk on the sea, the reliefs I yearn to see , why am I on this ship. It goes deeper , it sinks hesitantly but very fast. I knew it would so I had my boat which I rolled to the shores.

A nyameye sky poem.

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