Ishmael Onserio Poems

Two kinds of species,
Living under the same tree shed,
That mind did not see the sun's light,
Passing through the leaves thorn apart
...

You think you can do it better,
I know you are above everything,
No one does it better than you,
See him there, why clench those fists?
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That influx came humbled,
Lastly as witnesses of that great FOREST,
She cherished universal color of leafy grass each day,
It was not like in a blind spot,
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My name is Sansun, I was named after my mother murmured to the sun,
"Who lives in me, who's he, who's she? " The sun's ardor hit her fill out,
I think she wondered what was going on inside her, just for a good name,
A search for a nomenclature of being, she gave me Sansun, I'm satisfied.
...

Trust me as I hold the steering wheel of this desired forward march,
Trust me as I search in deep waters for a well-defined resting place,
It takes a sweat, it's a mind brawling campaign, it needs lots of trust,
Track me, hold a lubricious hem of the dwindling hope along this way,
...

I see the nudging grudge of the tyrant's elbow,
Sweeping roads so clean in the sanctioned oblasts,
Poisoned air and mounting tumult from a mighty bellow,
Suffocating innocuous beings, all trampled down in lethal thrusts.
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Welcome to the club,
It's lovely, you fit in this world,
It is the blessed call of nature, a rebirth,
Bring to us a king, let him rule come tomorrow,
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All this is beyond the wandering of my presumed wide-eyed imagination,
The glimpse of this one fact, his egress, has torn my doubting heart apart,
I can't comprehend the cause for this mighty fall, I'm blinded, I'm human,
The hill's treasured crest has been leveled to seabed, just like in surreal art,
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Pray for me now in the name of the most tolerant being,
Pray for me with conviction through this year very new,
Pray for this heart and soul to thrive through that spring,
Count no more the numbers these hands have cursed you,
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I bow my head in deep thoughts as I call back that Independence Day,
My heart crying earnestly as I face distaste of a weird reincarnation,
The gliding reprisals with no pretext drafting that of great liberation,
Those sparking thoughts of emancipation shrouded with rage's sway,
...