Stalemate Poem by Ishmael Onserio

It is a goalless match,
A score with no win,
Both ends that winning of greatness,
That abides in the biceps of the robust,
This life is a win-win show,
In the time of raging tides,
The settler from far shows waxing of safety,
Those that greet the waters die,
They shiver from the numbing cold.
You think you are the saint,
When they get fried in a saucepan,
The dribbling sparks of their torment,
Glide in stealthily to your chest and head,
Burning the hairs that you cherish,
I see this as a stalemate of time,
A record to be broken in heaven,
At the closure of age I presume,
When all shall come to a halt,
You climb up, you get the bruises,
Sitting at the foot of the tree,
Those falls smashes your head so hastily,
All day the circle is spinning,
Here cries allover, others laughing over there,
Tomorrow will be the opposite,
Do you realize this my brother?
It is what I call the mighty stalemate,
Now you got me right,
Yes, it cannot be replaced ever,
The leveling of all humanity,
It's yet to come here,
When I will not unbutton your shirt,
To probe the luster of that chest-hair,
That is unseen from the outside,
This time you won't see me standing,
On a high table grumbling,
Over your acts of demeanor,
The contempt of the tongue we have heard,
The gleam of the shining you think,
Golden barks branded great through time,
Sailing in swampy satieties,
I would like to be there,
To witness the dawn of the grand stalemate,
As doors of this cursed prison will open,
So wide to release the drowning outpour,
The cumbered pilgrims that ever lived,
On earth now and then,
A walk to that stalemate will be our ransom,
In those eyes this stalemate will be seen,
The chattering lips will loudly proclaim it,
And then we will start living,
Embracing each other with a genuine gesture.