e-Paper Poetry of Vinx

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Paper crown

  1. ​​​Lost in a tight room full of thorns
  2. Soon it shall take away the juice of fun.
  3. Then leakage shall become of all likeminds,
  4. Doomed into revival the moment I take pills
  1. Somewhere within the nerves in my brain, I take turns
  2. To think beyond political shafts and corns
  3. Doomed, my stomach go from good to churn
  4. Irritated by the leftovers of dirty schemes…
  1. Spotted on the green and white grasses…
  2. Mast down as the black fire consumes the fresh roots
  3. From solids to gases, I shed tears… 
  4. For children conceived into these smoky rooms
  1. To become puppets of political stewardships, 
  2. Dammed to hard labor for back pats that pays no bills….
  3. In these rooms of cloud, learning is not to lessons
  4. But to enchanting regrets and on their bare heads
  1. The weight of the world in tonne,
  2. They carry from pillar to posts.
  3. The gods are dead and so are the ancients
  4. Africa my motherland, earth of iron stones
  1. Proudly created around rivers of greatness
  2. But now surrounded by hell in a terrible lawn
  3. Where abasing generations….
  4. Walk and loose their true color brown,
  1. Beside gasoline, to grey white…
  2. In exchange for a paper crown…
  3. That shall be terribly torn by rains 
  4. And soon ignited by thick flames.

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