As long as my scribbling tools are
absent
While I near 37 in this commercial wheel,
Many poems will be mummified
In the womb of my mind.
While I near 37 in this commercial wheel,
Many poems will be mummified
In the womb of my mind.
So I shall use this rusty tool
Handed me by life
Before I lose my memory
And cannot remember anymore
Where I place my muses to be scribbled.
Handed me by life
Before I lose my memory
And cannot remember anymore
Where I place my muses to be scribbled.
Strengthen my thinker, O Love.
Remove all sieves from it,
For its job is to put down
That which pops up in it.
Remove all sieves from it,
For its job is to put down
That which pops up in it.
Strengthen my love O, thinker
For deep in thoughts lies great treasures of wisdom
For I shall never win this race
With this void of wisdom.
That which pops up
Within the bosom of my heart
May be sieved of folly.
For deep in thoughts lies great treasures of wisdom
For I shall never win this race
With this void of wisdom.
That which pops up
Within the bosom of my heart
May be sieved of folly.
---Abotreh & Fampah Coyish---
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