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BLEEDING @ FIFTY EIGHT By Mustapha Habeebah

October 1, 2018 Civilization House Of Salam (HOS) Islamic Poems 0



I am fifth eight, yes I am.
Guitar sound, drum beat
Everyone moves their body like the air
That blows the leaves on trees

Here in the corner of my dark room
Where sorrow kills my muse
My growth becomes decrease
My health becomes disease

My maturity becomes immature
My power was held by the wicked
Passing from hands to hands like ticket
And their heads only care for their pockets

My soft body becomes sported
Still they hid under the word ‘developing’
Suffering everywhere and there I heard
Their deaf ears won’t listen because
Their lips can only pronounce deceits

I await the time,
When our land will be fertilize
With peace and honey
That will halt our anguish and pain.


©Smiling Pen

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