This poem has no meaning
But yet it racks your brains and causes you to think
This poem is about the suffering
Of that boy on the streets unknown
In the closed room
Of the worthless boss idly
It builds an appetite for the violation
This poem is about the prostitute
In the middle of the town
Hurry, hurry pay your money
Come and sleep with me all night long
For tomorrow
You might know what I offered you
Nothing less than the incurable HIV
This poem was made to give itself
To surrender itself
To those men in blue and black
But yet it is not on the wanted list
This poem is about the scavengers
Which performs post-Morten
On those who died mourned
For the death
Cannot receive double punishment
There will always be earth to cover it
When there are no coffins
This poem has no partner
But it offers companionship
For the lonely and the broken-hearted
This poem has no poet
But owns it to you
And to no one else
This poem goes to the market
In the kitchen
Yet unnoticed and unrecognized
This poem is ragged and dirty
Lives in benighted ignorance
This poem knows nothing of itself
It only surrenders
It walks arm-in-arm with you
Not only in darkness
This Poem was a letter
I wanted to write to you
My DEAR.
This poem is one poem that was motivated by Mutabarka’s Dis Poem.
