, issue-four
The Power of essence lies in willed servitude

dad will say, leaning his aged back to our torn sofa;
the most glaring testament of penury in the balcony
of his unfulfilled dreams.

We will watch as he demystifies secrets in notes
emanating from snores using several algorithms
downloaded from the brain of uncircumcised ghosts.

His words were catalysts, enzymes of abstractions
which overtime formed behemoths of sagacity in empty
cells of our minds

Dreams are subtile, only legends accomplish them.

he will say this with his pipe cigar pointing to the sky,
oozing out whiffs like incense which appeased for our
shortcomings to the god of slaps and cords.

We could only see a fragment of it’s reality dawning
on us before he breathed his last. And then we took
those words, like a ram held by it’s horns, skinned

and burnt them alive on the altar of heed, only to
see his words producing fruits of excellence
in the garden of our dreams.

https://urightsmagazine.com/archives/poetry/issue-four/balconies-of-unfulfilled-dreams/

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