For Men Who Write Poems

Like always, when it’s an unusual juncture to be told

There appears a story from the county inside my head

While the skies of Auckland are in celebrations,

Embraced to be new year is the bride.

People say I write of my inferiority complex

But denials alas! ‘have a deceptive load that murders

I had been underprivileged of my share of joy, of happiness;

But no, the One is not to be blamed, my Karma instead is.

I must say I am horrified, terribly imbalanced

But I don’t have complains from life

It gives you beautiful blossoming mornings of love;

And brewed nights under the moon, besides the fire!

While there are vague winters coming,

And perilous winds are about to blow;

You ought to preserve food grains in the fortress

‘because there is no point confessing to the Bishop

For death of your loved ones!

And while I write poems I tell you I pray

I talk to Him;

And I lack words to hid myself from the fright I’m suffering

Too, I never considered me alone on any voyage

That my boat could go amiss but it never went,

And I leave me all on Him.