Bunguswa Writes.

I'll hold on till hell rises, from beneath the red earth- watered or dry to the core. Till I master the color of wind, I'll wait for death to rip you, from my side to the deep night- where dawn is unthought of. Lest I master the color of wind, I'll let my heavens fracture and the whole wide world bleed its essence , through unhappy ending's cracks. When I've mastered the colour of wind, I'll let time relinquish it's hold on us, let our existence fade into eternity, until then, I'll learn to converse with the wind of it's color and make. © Bunguswa ™

When the sky frowns at a new dawn, shedding tears that salts the wounds, and scrubbing into scars of broken bonds; to morning chills I surrender my struggled for crown. I've known skies and tears they cry, I've known thunderstorms and the lightning, I've known the deafening and blinding feeling  I've known mornings when men dine with the dead, and under the drizzling tears I face the cold- heart and mind-burdened; to the world yonder. I'm marching- I'm running from any wonder, for morrow's gone, and morning drowned in tears so cold. The earth oft° reddens on tears when it can, as ashes too rest in a common urn. ©Bunguswa™

Not from fairy tales I've known tears that hurt; but from a heart that tells the tale- of tears that fall behind the eyes leaving us pale with no vigour for a new life to sprout. Tears that hurt are not for the broken love, that flows in their twos to the lake beneath, pulsating rhythmically with no breath- cascading into lovelorn with no reserve. Tears that hurt are not for a failed promise, that ushers a dreamy night for the silent moon- nor those that fade with light showers at noon depriving our strength with nor recourse. Tears that hurt are for the deferred dream; that upsets the soul to utter silence- shuddering the heart's reasoning dominance, leaving life's mysteries for the mind to plumb. © Bunguswa Brian ™

When the sea in my eyes drowns the dreams; interring happiness in the realms of ice that freezes, I look up to the sky, sinking, I look up to God- He speaks- Within me , His conviction surges, I ink the tears. And to the rhythmic beat of the whirl winds; and to the silent whispers of solitude, I've mastered to dance embers of the morning sun under my skin without.  I know the sweet chilling sensation, resident in basking under the mild glow of a fecund moon, hopeful to dry my cheeks from my eyes' flow. ©Bunguswa.

When I lose sleep to thoughts that pain, I listen to the silence of my troubled mind, the moon shining with dullness of it's kind- enticing a trace of sleep I do strain. Dogs maybe wagging tails at the unseen, not barking- at the empty skies staring they too humbled to silence of a deserted bin. Trees maybe shaking lazily, they aren't whistling with satisfaction, they too consigned to oblivion- like me, drowning in thoughts, sadly. I, the moon, and the silent abyss arms interlocked, to silent whispers of insomnia we're chained. © Bunguswa ™

Don't cry, Let the memory linger on, As hours turn to days and years. Tell the world a poet I was, Of an ordinary mind; Tell them my words danced to tunes of birds of the air.  Tell them I crafted from my dreams, from my silent screams, from my unseen tears, tell them I penned my fears; Above all, I penned with love and care. Don't let my red mound grow old, Adorn it with memorable flowers, and hymns to sweet heavens, so my earthly home stays lit. Don't curse the soil, To ashes I'm back, but remember my rhymes  and let the memory live on. When the sun goes down, let them know in my verses I cried, It was an echo, That they oft° ignored- and when it's quizzed who I was, I was the ordinary mind, I went when the sun set in the East. ©Bunguswa.