PEACE

Peace, it comes in bundle of thorns,
Punching, punctured blood stained finger,
Delivered in tears, like the fall of white waters,
Through the longest journey of courage,
Rage defeated, greed punished by selflessness.

Peace, it's heavy, a burden for those receiving,
It is joy, happiness for those upholding,
It’s warmth, shelters every lonely heart,
Its love, comfort for every broken mind,
It’s peace, light to every darkness,
Silence to every trouble.

Peace, a worthy gift for the world,
God's to give, man's to uphold.
It comes in bundle of thorns,
It’s heavy, a burden for those receiving,
It’s peace, let's make a peaceful world.

HURTING STORY

I fear my story for tale,
For yet, not a sweet to garnish,
A story of life, like a mine,
But where and when did it start?

The quest for happiness, I’m set,
In work, love and family,
With miles and more every step,
But did I find none? No!

I found it all in a cheering grip,
Applauding to the fit, instead of the hold,
Perhaps, just two hands I can boast,
But with none, what’s grip and applause?

I fight the battle of love with life,
Forcing to live when I can’t live a love,
Just the part that I love to hate,
But I’m sure the story isn’t ended yet.

To patch a hole, you’ll see a hole,
To replace a friend, you’ll find another,
The same of things you believe and yet fear,

SOMEONE NEW

Under a roof we seek furniture,
Under the shade, cold and soft breeze,
But alone in the scourge of the sun,
We seek shelter, a home and someone new.

Someone new, someone everywhere,
Anybody, or the one beside when I turn my head,
My words wait, my heart faints and I burn,
Yet I smile, for the unseen, I still wait!

In this clouds of friendship,
And the bid to replace what’s been lost,
I cross fingers and wait on future,
At the other side of the oven, like a baker
Neither will I choose nor hurry, worry but wait.

I dream of your plenty faces and shapes,
I never touched, but my wish is to hold,
Be there, never leave and make us live forever,
But I’m awake in my shamble, sitting on my crumbles,
Till I meet you like I’ve seen. Someone new.

THE AFRICAN DRUM

THE AFRICAN DRUM
The sound of our time,
the beat of our lives,
the story of our history,
the history of our making.
you are the joy of the very begining,
but the end of the new begining.


your sound was the best call,
your beats saw endless steps,
and your story made the moon stay extra night.
your history is what our future is missing,
your begining is locked in graves,
with your end missing down the shelves.


when can i find one drum so large,
termites feast my waiting flute,
age bends my patient legs,
and each day I move away from my voice.
my heart beat away each day in wait,
just to beat, just to hear and just to dance.


if in this life our meeting is never real,
History our heaven, will wait,
so back where hearts fear to reach,
someday with you i'll surely play.
this is to you a drum of memories,
to the drum that will never beat,
to you my African Drum.