Thorns

• Red blood is the ink for my pen,
• sharp rose thorns fill my pages,
• Love is my passionate lyric for ages,
• Words is unknown; alphabets dead
• I proclaim my own death;
• with a tribute of a poem;
• these thorns were flowers once
• I dislike lovers who betray.
• Poets have abandoned the gardens
• to go back to the deserts.
• Only camels remain here
• one thorn for each kiss.
• I don’t tempt my better half,
• no bird will ever sing for me.
• I don’t yield anything in rain.
• I create another splendor
• beyond this twilight,
• one side of dreams paralyzed
• a sharp, piercing knife chopped
•  my ugly body and its language.

BY

WILLIAMSJI MAVELI