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Once again, the warmth of sunshine
showered my face—awakening me
with praises—the inkwell of mind
overflowing in musing contemplation.
Flaming metaphors, venomous similes
and stinging verses seek to inoculate
the wombs of fertile minds
against the infectious lies of deceit—
whose pandemic-abracadabra affects
ape the emptiness of the scales of justice
and the smoking guns of a scarred greatness.
Shakespearean tragedies are a thing of the past;
there is no question that we must be, here and now,
Mandingo men to whom Othello is but a torch memory
that ignites the burning spears of our mid-summer realities
shaping the fall of winter’s once-upon-a-time discontentment.
