The Bastard Child…
Around the corner, a city art the pathway to Norway.
There found a beauty, forcefully sank into the ocean, astray
Going deaf, already blind in one eye
Answering to the mischievous name, ‘Harlot with a bastard child’
With the left at-alert eye, she peeped to heaven and cry
“The sky, at gray-blue dawn,
Just as a football field”, she thought,
Standing with her tattered patch blue gown
Covered against the cold-she wore a top red court…
To and fro, sun set at down,
Whilst chicks finds comfort at the bosom of the mother hen
The birds to the nest, amidst her art her best, she lays in the cave.
Left to the mercy of the danger within
Brim with the comfort of sucking mosquitoes, she grieves.
At break, she watches the sun rise,
As the birds sing melody, ‘her soul beam with a smile’
Noon a plate of mashed potatoes and dish.
Midnight is an ugly chipped plate which you alone use, when you’re alone
Sunset a wise dog that ignores even though serve a beef
Her tomorrow seems to promise no hope of a home
The future resembles a cloudy dream
Where the ghost of all her life speaks when it sees dim
It tries to tell her something, but what?
It has left her to the ail vultures,
As the street lords had shifts on her
Now she is with a bastard child
Rejected by all the father’s, just left aside
Without a comforter to her plea, soon cometh the deserted one
She’d hope it’d be a dream and soon would be awakened by someone…