In the nation of playwrights
The state of poets
The country of pigs
And the empire of apes
Evolution continuing.
The home of jackals
And goats
The family of parrots
And the room of owls
No faithful crows
To throw meat down to me.
Stomach grumbles
Under the loft of punched roof
Rays and drops falling upon me
In my prison.
Emotions dragging heart
Toward the mouth
An inch away
Advice swept to the blue sky
French leave not convenient.
Shout louder in the home of parrots
Quieten them
And squeeze the zoomy eyes of owls
Your renovation sends you a crow.
The poet wrote
And so did the playwright
And I learnt poetry
Under parrots’ domination
Part time with the poet and playwright
Part time with the parrots.
A poet, a playwright
But an additional novelist
And the up-and-coming young donkey
His pockets checked up occasionally
For the salary
No debts but the lying lips piled up.
Where is the eagle?
The blessed eagle to take me
To the sky
To taste those sweet fruits taken off me,
The fruits of livelihood?
If I could sleep near the dead
In their death beds
Aiming to spare my ruined life
The better
Close my eyes to be somewhat dead
The parrots will sing their songs of praise
To impregnate your dwelling.
Receive a couple of thanks
Poet, playwright, novelist
An important gift you owed me
But the poet is off, handcuffed
The young donkey from jail to prison, no
It’s no better than the vast punched roofed
House of scandals.