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A poem about black magic and true dreams

Updated on April 18, 2014

A wicked dream

The curse is finally shunned!

As my subconscious informed;


The baby suffocating

Whimpering spiritlessly, shedding the last drop of tear left

A struggle for survival


Time races as the baby breathes his last hope

She feeds him, with milk and life

Fail to digest, the baby vomits

Manure pours out of his fragile mouth


As the vile wastage lay dead on the ground

Wicked objects begin to mould out from it;

Voodoo dolls, chicken claws, crawling braids


A Camel bone buried

The curse has been abolished

The baby cured

Life and breath retreat, as my soul descends into me

A horrific reassurance of my freedom!


I have been decontaminated

Extricated; like a bird from a cage,

A genie from an ancient lamp

A soul detached from an infected body

Feeling modish in my new skin, recycled

As I rise from my ashes


The prolonged night of pity is blending into the Dawn of merry times

However during this Dawn we must keep our feet firm on the ground

For the ultimate pain is invited, when standards are set beyond reach

Expectations surpass reality


So thank The Lord for sunrise

May it be a timid winter sun or the blazing summer sun

Forget not the darkness you escaped


Indeed I am free of all stones;

The weighty stone on my back

The metallic stone in my head

The cold stone in my heart


Like a peacock feather in the air

I must admit, this long lost sensation is rather electrifying

Buzzing with energy

As a new journey awaits, for a better world




written for my mum

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