Friday, April 5, 2019

Pleasure poems

Pressure poems.
our song in politics
Is the melody of our manipulation
Which is sank by the wail of non-politics
And murmuring of masses in great population.

The better for us the worst for our sheep
That ship we suppose to take care of
Our song gives pain for the sheep
The sheep cried"let it be off"

When we feed with a good match
Our sheep's face a giant battle
In it many people crash
Many head fall in pits and rattle

Our song comes not with our manifestoes
Because no act is done in carrying it.
We love not our sheep
These song is bitter in it beat
Our song arrived with coarse throat
They can't explain how it s sing
They wander through the arid while we watch.

Who is there doing what is not good?
Who is there performing what is rude?
Stealing the sea and matching with there heels
They never accept any word
And never reject their action .

Who is the so call pirate hanging on the sea
Ready to steal
I never know what to call them
With there manners
Stealing our resources.

They cause, curse there own name
There motion arrest motions.
They are naughty with nothing
They stoops behind corners
Ready to perform their theft.
Very keen to do it
The leaders all know what to call them.

ours is the gig,
But sitted with  half buttock
We are numerous in the gig
And our horse is walking on rocks
Hard place where there no water ring
Everyone very thirsty pray
And also with appetite big
The source of sluggish that slow the relay.
The rider stop not for a moment to cook
Or for short on the hard rock to lay,
We knows we are in great trouble
Trouble which race the double bubbles
We ve no wing for flight
And so we are in trouble, drown.
We ve no happiness to chant
Because our eyes closed in the  dark dawn.
People preach of the stream
So up we move
But where is the stream
Where our thirst ll be mowered
And appetite be chase with broom
Where our White skin be cover with cream.

We whip here,we whip there,
But  still our horse is unmoved.
We try to keep the pace of other
But our gallop is slow.

Here we are now In the streams if rocks
And when we peddle it hard for our ferry,.
Our horse unmoved our ship ungo
And we passengers must wait.

We stern to move
But unconcern to our riders
We gave stament to help move
But our riders are unconcern.

Even the giants disturbed our way
And we the dwarf was cry
We move our  head partly for pity
And partly for our own sorrow.

Our out fit for the dinner is stain
And our right to eat is deny for no good,
We spend our time principally on wailing
We prowl for Good earnings.

Yes before we move in Good
Our obstructions must be kill
And our riders replace
We are numerous in the gig,
And we can put the rider away
And send the sailor down the water.

Ours is the field, we own the garden,
But we taste no good fruit,
We prowl for our own thing.
The garden full of our own blood-security
Which made us mute,
We sat our self  under the Palm tree,
And up some people on the top
They eat their own and forget us.

The climbers forget their manifesto,
They turn down there dreams,
They neglected us too,
Instead of fruits they spat down phlegm,
They give bounds of sorrow,
And our cries in bundles
We never know who ll stop this sorrow. Or cut this people down in middle.

They laught at our cries,
And throw down their spit,
Because of appetite below many dies,
And like a cat looking for rat we sat
Under,who can save you or me?
Little and little we feed with their waste,
As their laughter echo in three,
For this ,our survival is by fate.

All right reserved.
Ayk kellin.
Thanks for reading.
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