Imaginative

My Father’s Gaze

We sat down facing the west As the sun lazily crawled behind the green hills Under the older than time mango tree We sat on rickety three legged stools. His face engulfed in mystery Stroking his grey mustache He gazed...

My Last Poem

How would it be The last strike of my pen When death shall grasp me Come like a crimson tide When I will be no more Will it form part of my eulogy Would it live on beyond me Would it...