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Once again, the warmth of sunshine
showered my face—awakening me
with praises—the ink well 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
Mandingo men to whom Othello is
a torch memory that ignites the burning spears
of our mid-summer realities—Shaping the fall
of winter’s once-upon-a-time discontentment,
ushering in the spring of our new beginnings.
