Some Word Play
A lark, quiping my prelude,
Sings tapered aspirations,
And in an indisposed firmament,
A vaunted existence is truly scripted.
A concocted countenance,
And shimmering in an intumescent condour, is ours to claim.
Pubescent and wanton longings,
Embellish some metastatic cajoles,
That readily defies any medication,
Nor any persuations.
A cartharsis of sorts,
Is all that we need to vanguish,
Some inconsequential bother,
That bathes in turquoise hues,
And briddles with unbriddled debauchery,
The devil’s prerogative…
And claim the ultimate prize,
Of honour and humour.
A certain precept obtuses a mired aggrandiosement,
That abound in sheer vanity,
And we absolve gladly…
There I vaunt my priaspismic penitence,
And is still unshamed by your naked hazed gaze into my naked soul,
There I proclaim,
Our mental mire and dire brethren…..
Let us word play kindred spirit.
Ayoub Mzee Mzima © 2012