GEORGE THE TIRED POET

Dear Valentine, Yesterday, I wrote a love Poem, I wrote it for widowed mothers, I wrote it for Orphaned children, I wrote it for scared men, I wrote it for Poets, I wrote it for men shot on the streets. I wrote it for worried writers. I wrote it for You. I wrote that,  They should forgive us, They should stop killing us For speaking against the wrongs. I wrote that my brothers are scared, They are scared because they're dying, They are dying graduating- Graduating for jobs that are Chinese, Russians and the old. I wrote another poem, I wrote that they should release all political prisoners, They should stop arresting political protestors, They should not exercise guns on everyone. Dear Valentine, Yesterday, I wrote that  I will love you if the nation gets free, Because I am scared that you may lose me, I may die anyway, I may get shot for writing poetry. I may get detained by the military. And today, I may write again. © George William Ochago  @ George The Tir...

📸 Photo Credit Emilie(Emilie In the Picture). (My Letters to Emilie). Dear Emilie, I know tough times come, but We wrestle them times, We wrestle with a couple of brains. And that, is always a success. Emilie, I believe I wronged  Some people so hard Including you, but That is not why I am here. I realized, today is 29th January😌, And I thought I should apologize, By writing something That can make you want to cry. Cry for nothing you don't know. Just as hard this year started, I don't have a gift for you, I only got my brain and a pen And I want to write Poetry on how we met, How you first saw me on the street, How you attended that Poetry night- In Busamaga. I also want to write, How you lie, The lies that keep me hopeful, The lies that I have learned to lie, And I think today is also another lie. Without any tithe, Allow me to say, Today, you are a year older  Than yesterday- Because you were a year younger than today. So, it is your Birthday. Happy Birthday B...

Model: Marrice (Echoes of the Heart). I miss writing, I miss writing about her, I miss writing on her Or even with her. I miss my muse, I miss sending midnight messages, I miss typing- Goodnight Babe. I miss, feeling stressed if I didn't write about her. I miss my pen, I miss the smell of ink, I miss crying on her, I miss crying with her. I miss the metaphors, Those lines when I told her I love her in Poetry. I miss my Muse. © George The Tired Poet. @Kreatives' Parlor. 25th January, 2025. 23:14Hrs. #PoeticSaturdays.