ESTRANGED

 

Estranged.

Ripped, torn apart,

Unloved, abandoned,

Dissected from nature's womb.

Severed from the Land of Loam

Sequestered from nature's richness

Into a temporal abundance of means

Masking the real penury of feelings

In changing fads and revealing fashion

On these streets of sheer wantonness.

Estranged.

Broken from Religion- into hypocrisy

Pained over real love: dark and free

That sailed in streams of pure passions

Alienated from warm families

Cast into the winter of their cruel humanities

Hanging from a noose of deception

Of perpetually grinding groins and animated moans

Fueled by Ecstasy and powder-induced emotions

On these streets of wanton lust.

 Estranged.

Frustrated over the metallica

Exhausted over the eternal buzz of traffic

Loud decibels of raw, stranded emotions

Wishing on a sound: different

In the music of vast Safaris

And the silent melodies of Rain-forests

Hoping to sleep in this despair

And wake in the heart of black Africa

Far away from these white streets.

The Wait by Poet Razon-Anny Justin

 THE WAIT

I.)

Wait for me

Tarry, Mon Diamanté

For it's a long journey

Across jagged rocks of despair

To the oasis of sweats

I am on the roads

At the junction of hearts

I drive in haste

But love is a snail

Wait while I come to thee

II.)

You must wait- when I delay

You cannot walk alone

Through depths of old fallows

We must hold courage's hand

And hasten through the jungles

If we are together spent

At the pith of our essences

There I shall seek dreams

In the vale between your luscious breasts

While I come to thee

III.)

Wait underneath the shades

My boon stretched shadows 

Soak the tears from your other eye

Thy soul hangs over those cliffs

I drive in haste, yet come late

To quench desires of dampness

Of careless moans

And senseless songs

I shall hold thee through the gale

When I come to thee

IV.)

Wait a bit more

For love is a snail

I'm clearing the paths

Over shades of still streams

So we match pace

Sync rhythm and calm breathes

Dance to strokes of broken harpsicords

I implore thee to slow speed

For I drive in haste

And you must wait- though I come late.

V.)

Wait a season more

For I've driven over sandshales

Cuddling over purple sheets

And curled under pink blades

I see your pink blade

The scar of careless incisions

As I swim over streams

And dive into warm fountains

We shall find our harmony

When I eventually come to thee 

©Poet Razon-Anny Justin,

Thoughts from a Warped-mind,