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Breathing with trees, I’m not calm,
I’m handling calamities, housing
in foreign entities, losing my
sovereignty to a broken man,
I’m losing my own thoughts,
memories are dot dot dot,
unwritten stories, rivals with
my own conscious mind, I’m blind
during the limelight, time flies
when you’re falling down, I’m
a frowning clown, wearing a gown
filled with childhood letters, the
mailman is nowhere in sight, I’ve
tasted spite, I’ve dressed self in
disguise, disgusted by self demise,
revise the size of my ego’s head,
prune off the beard, still infant
inside, in fact I’m weeping when
the pain oozes everyday, sad poet
filled with experiences of sadness,
brokenness and bittersweet headaches,
heartaches are for the past self,
I’m walking the path of elves, I’m
from the tribe of chiefs, I don’t
crumble, I don’t lose my head,
standing by the ledge, not focusing
on the downward steepness, it’s a
beautiful horizon, can’t you see the
free birds, doves and ravens playing
catch, matchmake me with the sun,
I’m a boiling melted star in the
depths of my heart, vomiting art,
stuck in a hut with a mind infiltrating
colosseums, Ecclesiastical seizures,
flipping mind, I’m fuming the ink
of a broken king, slingshot me towards
the StarCraft, I need to analyse the
draft of other planets made before
the birth of earth, the clouds are the
pillows for me to lie on, it’s a beautiful
creation for me to marvel at, the
pain still aches, the sight of my poor
African blacks still stings inside,
a thousand times I’ve died, raised;
hell and back, scared of birth and
scared of death, I’m the scarecrow trying
to notify all going towards the edge.

Life’s a stage, the beggar is on the
side on a broken stool, the one
who can’t seem to understand,
the fool with a dog for a shaman,
marvel at a Poet’s mind, so good
at playing riddle games with others’
mindsets, but can’t redefine his own mindset,
little surrogate birthing out bastards
on little pages, my concoctions, let’s
cocoon underneath my confusing
written notions, dance with me, surf
on my wavey emotions, feel the motion
of my pressure, I can’t breathe in
silence, anxiety; I’m a jumpy little
young African, cowardice rolling
dices, diving into snares, barefoot
walking the thorny path, don’t
embrace my pathway, no laces
to tie; I’m footless, can’t fit in my
shoes when there’s no shoes, I’m
loosened inside my skull here,
I recurringly escape the darkness,
can’t act cool when life keeps
making you a fool, a tool used to teach
most of their mistakes, tired of
the cuts and the one takes, I’m
living in various tales; where the bad
guy smiles while I drown in the deep end,
dead end, deadman in wonderland,
touch inner hand it’s soft though,
my struggles slaughter me in silence,
the violence is too cognitive; I
can’t feel my pain on a flesh wound,
I’m bound by the hounds from hell’s nest,
coloured boy trying to best the world,
the veld is burning, forest fires and
I’m ashy, these wounds I learnt to
patch, I walk, it’s not a dead end,
thoughts to me can be dead weight,
I’m leaking lead; understand that
I can lead the whole metal army to
the edge where larva christens the
shell, melt me when you find me
being unfair, I’m in the lair where
lions don’t roar; these ones quake lands,
I own my quirks, I can be scary at times,
mysterious and acting frail.

I’m another boy in a society of
black mothers selling tomatoes,
no degrees, living to survive,
and here I stand going against
the norms of forefathers, stand
tall, tell them your story son,
show them the life in a black world,
where ghettos are filled with corpses
rotting, these ghettos are zoos,
cameras and photo shoots, just
hold on and focus on the pathway,
the destiny is near, so don’t give way,
don’t lose face, just smile, that’s
relish money so don’t let your ego
cause others to starve, smile and
love, think of another boy who’ll
call you dad, a son from the sun,
so enlighten the next one in a new
bloodline, leave a legacy, smile
when the stomach growls, let
your mentality grow, you have
your ancestors and your God, so
don’t live pitiful, be royalty, beautiful,
treat your sisters like Queens to you,
it’s a miracle to be you…

By Eugene ‘Philosophisticater’

Artwork by Tomasz Alen Kopera

Philosophistication Poetry © All Rights Reserved ©

Hell And Back {Another Black Boy}

What does it mean to be a poet from the wilderness of zinc (shacks)?

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