My Fans

 

This voice I retain to speak once more
As my heart maintains bond so dear, so pure
Eccentric walk with words spoken
To listening ears with wills unbroken

A breadwinner to eyes that beckon
Failing paths and faltering truths reckon
Through ghettos, slums, mansions and valleys I trod
For the approval of those who hold that beating rod – (my fans)

 

 

Poetry, I gave my own definition
Calling words and telling stories with improper punctuations
Criticisms washed ashore, drifted by the art-winds of perfection
Eroded and scarred and left me confused with an infertile erection

As the grains of words were collected meticulously like shards of broken glass
They were gathered and redistributed evenly along a rugged coastline
A collection of words unspoken beached in this new haven eco-labelled
To garner the fading calls of the core that remained– (my fans)

 

 

With every utterance and every breath
There was dancing in the sands of liberation on a beach created
And for every step of a dance that breathed life
There too was the orchestra heard only to those ears that waited

Of a core that stood where no ground was
Though purported
Sounds of self and inner voices promulgated through a poet’s language
 Verbatim professions of ink on paper

 

 

Thus, my story and my motivation
Hence my unwavering obsession with words
This my curse or blessing
At times a forlorn hope of emancipation

This is the inspiration and the gratification
This is the truth of a lie
This is what and who I am
This is why, my fans.