POEM 604.

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📸Getty images.
Just like a Pregnant Gecko
I sat, sniffing the odour of ink,
Not realising, my palm is actually pink.

From a distance, 
I felt the smell of a wet metal 
Owning my nostrils like I am part of the betrayal. 

Poem 604,
I wrote my lines- bit-by-bit,
My nose didn't settle for a bit.

I saw a beautiful girl-sitted a distance away,
Her eyes filled with shame, 
Her heart scared of shame.

She had the odour of a wet metal, 
Blood had run beyond her underwear.
She had nothing to 'wear'.

Poem 604
Was my first love poem,
But I got me crying. 

What about my money?
What if I wrote philanthropy?
What if I wrote about loving?

Poem 604,
I wrote my lines with grief
Because my nose didn't settle. 

When will my sisters get what to wear?
What if they left school because of blunder?
What if they get lured by my cycling brother?

What if one day, they decide to end their lives?

© George William Ochago. 
George The Tired Poet. 
-2023.

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