Free Beer

I don’t want another one

I have had one

And that was enough

Don’t get me another

For this free beer always gets into way of so many things….

I have learned to hate free beers

So many strings attached I say my brother

Too much hidden expectations I declare my sister

Come clean and state the price

I will pay

Everything has a price no matter how steep or low

I don’t want another free beer…

© Ayoub Mzee 2012

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The Unspoken Word

Long after
the conversation
is long dead,
Long after the
embers of the fire
have stopped
flickering
and only the ashes abound,
You’re bound by the nagging realization that, after
all, the story is quite not yet finished.

Something was not entirely said.
Something was not spoken.
A vital truth thus was hidden from your intent ears.
A word lies,
there in a lie, unspoken.
The unspoken word…..

It is this unspoken word,
Hanging in the room,
like a mysterious aroma,
or like wanton fiend
from a field,
unknown to you
but known to him,
cleverly hidden in that low intonation,
Masterly concealed in that sly simile in the smile,
Craftily cocooned in that understanding look,
Cunningly parceled in those regular silences,
That vex your intellect.
That matters most.
The unspoken word….

Most never pick
up the mind games,
But the discerning ones will always, and will reach
and try to wrench the
unspoken word
festooned in
a friend’s psyche
and reveal
its contents in day light.
For it is in this unspoken word,
that the painful truth resides.
For it is in this unspoken word,
that the true sentiment lives with her regimen.
For it is in this unspoken word,
that possess all the answers. grudgingly…..

How many a lover had wished to hear this unspoken word spoken, And thus gain an illegal entrance
into her unguarded heart and mind and steal her
secrets,
And his magic spell would commence
to wow the lass with his potent lover’s guises.
Every wily dealer never says all,
its the buyer to find out how much he’s been
cheated.
Every mistress worth her salt,
never tells all to her conniving master, he must cleverly know on his own, if he has anything between his two ears.
Every skilled politician, leaves a lot of unspoken words
hanging in the air, like menacing dark clouds, or marauding pack of ungrateful vultures,
cycling high above, ready to swoop down and vanquish the sorry mortals.

This unspoken word is power.
Evil power.
Good power.
What’s your decree?
Words fail us miserably.
There are somethings in your chest that words can’t adequately describe. Even scribes can’t script the truth of that emotion
properly.
Hear with your ears, but most importantly, listen
with your eyes.
Look with your eyes, but most crucially, see with
your heart.
In this way, the countenance of your friend’s
inscrutable face,
Will never hide anything from you even if he never speaks that elusive word.
You’ll surreptitiously catch the lier in his lies’ lair
without uttering a single word.
Unfortunately, what fails to be said is usually
what’s important.
Alas the unspoken word!

© Ayoub Mzee 2012

City Lights

Bright.
Brash.
Rude.
Cute.
Cunning.
Running.
Exciting.
Exiting.
Welcoming.
Beckoning.
Neon lights.
For eons.
LED lights.
RED lights.
Screaming electric blue.
Illuminating the city’s intrigues.
Lighting up the city’s rues.
Strobe lights.
Pays undue dues.
Darkness is scantly dressed.
And softly pressed on a teasing breast.
Carousing on a late Friday night.
Disco lights.
Are the city’s lights.
Rushed lusts.
Claims to last.
But just rusts.
Always.
Ah. city lights.

City lights.
Lights up a maddening euphoria.
Lighted up taxis.
Rides up latent desires.
Rides down potent rogue longings.
It is another night.
Brightly lighted.
Purchased joy.
Is the city’s light.
Hedonistic tendencies.
Go lucky miasma.
Sums up this wild feeling.
City lights beckons.
To allude.
And allude.
To certain lies and truths.
Ah. City lights.

© Ayoub Mzee 2012

Naïveté

 

Innocence is fused.
Innocence is confused.
Believing too easily.
Relieving too soon.
Green is the hue,
Of blissful ignorance,
Some greenhorn,
To be taken care of,
To be taken advantage of,
Humming tunes of regret.
Tones of remorse prevails,
And in equal measure,
To claim some dream.
Lies are swiftly mistaken for the truth.
Too gullible.
Too cunning.
No second thought to portend.
Didn’t know truth comes dressed up,
In various shades and garments.
Too sweet.
Too complying.
With a cunning fox.
In a cunning box.
A sole soul is sold for a song.
How sad.
Naivete kills…..

© Ayoub Mzee 2012