Black Child Poem by Paris Thulare

Why squandering the who you are in the name of pride?
Why searching into such a helly whole like prime?
The companions are compatrioting at stages live,
Pockets fully of pennies this time.
They are chasing dreams at cloud nine,
Whilst you are drzzling in the winter night.

Doesn't it scary you once?
The life of dancing to the onse
From day to dawn rolling joints?
Doesn't it bother you for once
The ideal of sipping tons?

Look around you,
Nothing is anew.
Stars are changing shifts,
Seasons are on tilts.
And still you are worst your enemy in sheets.

No time is the right one for hunting.
The courageous are grippling
Get right on, atone from shievering.
No such is romoured a free train for vikings

Dear black child,
Shades are for the weak,
Meeping is for the lost
You have all the kit
Align yourself with the living