Monday, 13 June 2016


If we see the world full of One, then One is born. 
I've written this poem hours after the Orlando shooting. 
United we stand. 

I picked up a pen - not a gun and my finger curled around its ink trigger

Whilst the cricket softly cries life sustains with a flicker 

But exists with a flame

The man is tame

Until he comes in the room with his big balloon who self - implodes

He spent the night binge watching the last of the past episodes

Words melting from the heat of his head, dripping from his tongue

Bullets of syllables flying like frogs, turning books into morgues

Gravity pulls sweat onto the floor

A restless look at the door

Locked to earth his blistering eyes, speaking his mind in slur

Dancefloor full of red and the street lights blur

We lost what was born 

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