BACK-STAB

Ah friendship! To what depths can you plummet,

In the advent of your sombre twilight?

Does your back oozing red not highlight

The stark imminence of your sorry death?

Time was when you fed your morsels of faith

To a parched palate lying stripped of taste;

But all now fills this drab expanse of waste

Is the portent of your lumbering wraith!

Yes, I, the wretched king of 'ungrateful's,

Has seen you writhing in my betrayal,

Despite your standing by gold-tinted rules-

All of which- now consigned to history,

Has, doubtless, enticed the friend disloyal

To stab your back to end your misery.

Copyright © 2017 by Oliva Rath. All rights reserved. This material cannot be copied and reproduced in any form without permission.

WHEN TEARS SHALL HAVE JUSTICE BORNE

Cry you not dear, shed not in vain tears,

And drop not your shoulders often,

For then, your own zillion faceless fears,

You merely let quickly embolden!

Let instead your eyes brightly capture

The muted rumblings in million heads,

Souls of which shall ne'er feel the rapture

Of taste of bread, or a wink on beds...

Beds, the likes of which you daily grace,

Are but wishful thoughts best swept aside

For 'nother birth on Earth's ruthless face,

So why not stifle the dream inside?

Yeah, why not inside, the emptiness?

Left behind by man's fervent rampage

Turning greenly grass to concrete mess-

Halt, witness mankind's 'coming-of-age'!

And what woe 'coming-of-age' entails

For the trodden down,is in your eyes,

So if you must cry, then pick their trails

And shed your tears for their muted cries!

Your fears shall then break asunder,

And each piece for each man shall adorn

A shield resisting meek surrender,

And then, your tears shall have justice borne.

Copyright © 2017 by Oliva Rath. All rights reserved. This material cannot be copied and reproduced in any form without permission.

POETIC JUSTICE

You are famous as a poet,

respected, honored & weighed.

Don’t you feel guilty

indulging in sinful infidelity?

You are a human, so fallible

with instinctive urges insatiable.

Don’t you feel the burden of social concession

on your poetic aberration?

You write on social shame,

veil yourself & save your fragile fame.

Don’t your fingers tire

Gaming long as facile liar?

You are an aged criminal

insensitively murdering manly morale.

There is no fair trial to prove you innocent.

Write on what you are & accept it as your punishment.

Copyright © 2017 by Oliva Rath. All rights reserved. This material cannot be copied and reproduced in any form without permission.