Submitted by : binbbaz on Youth

A pessimist travels through
lanes of worries where his
thoughts are incarcerated
and future buried in fear.

I walk through the wilderness
of time with a meat in my
jacket. Caravans smear latex
on the faces of dreams

I drew on my hood. I should
not cry, like a man. Bystanders
watch. Weeds and bushes sleep
on the brightest side of rays of

joy, blood from my feet sweep the
fairy tale of hope beyond luck. This,
painful torments coaxing me roughly
into sacred sojourn with a beauty of

my hair and the tenderness of my feet
when my mother touches it. I wash
the faces of the dreams with my tears,
with my right hand curved into a quarter

of the sun. I am a man like I am.
others are proud of love with
reminiscence of romance on
green sofa. I'm a wanderer

like they say, I'm proud of struggles
with piercings through my heart.

Abdussalam A. B