Bunguswa Writes.

Like birds of the air that flys high, like twigs that dance to the rhythm of the whirlwind, life is a mystery of it's kind an echo; oft° uncontrolled, to which we can only sigh.  We cry and wipe the tears, like drizzles from a light cloud- that wets the dust only to be dried out aloud, alike, the whistling wind will pass with our fears. So, cherish solitude under the fecund moon, listen to the echo of the glowing stars they unite us in love and erase our scars, to redeem our souls and relight our spirits soon. Again; when the dark cloud gathers, stand in the rain, it cleans the salty tears and drains away our pain. ©Bunguswa Brian ™

Like tides of a stormy sea that rises and falls in the night  to welcome a new dawn with a beautiful sight of a calm shore, and, fine sand that we oft° crave to see we'll rise and dust our knees again like roses, that oft° cry and cover their scars we'll wipe the tears that blurs for our strength from the morning sun we'll regain. Roses have grieved and with them we cry when we let them wither on our loved ones red mound roses too love, and with them we've created a bond to share love and for disappointments decry. With tides and roses our dreams to the sea we'll take never again to inter our hopes before we wake. ©Bunguswa Brian ™

She'd marry a poet,she said; to pen her a lovely piece when sad. She'd marry a poet, whose words would caress her like a dolly pet this poet she wanted, would be of color and size never imagined. His fidelity would lie on paper even when her smile was improper, he'd tirelessly pen with the blue ink- his nails knowing not the red nor pink, that oft° left her aching, for yesterday's master was prone to red painting. But she married an eagle poet, with claws, talons and verbosity of a parrot. He flew high above the sky to heights none like him could fly and he penned in red with the vigour of a thorough bred   Today she still yearns for a poet with the silence of the stars of the night who'd pen lovely poems over the flowing river in tranquility to rid off her fever. Hope one day she'll marry her desire to crown her crave that's on fire.  ©Bunguswa Brian ™

You will miss me, that day I'll leave; to the world yonder- to where only stories are told: of wild honey  and milk that rains. You will miss my unrhymed dances; like leaves against the whirl wind that sways to the blow- against their will to break a trunk that  crys fatigued. Like birds of the air, memories will fly away paving for life a new way- but to my rhythm casting a cloud, laced with tantrums of forgetfulness. On that day, unwatered roses will wither- yielding to the anger of the scorching sun. ©Bunguswa Brian™