The Bastard Child…

Around the corner, a city art the pathway to Norway.

There found a beauty, forcefully sank into the ocean, astray

Going deaf, already blind in one eye

Answering to the mischievous name, ‘Harlot with a bastard child’

With the left at-alert eye, she peeped to heaven and cry

“The sky, at gray-blue dawn,

Just as a football field”, she thought,

Standing with her tattered patch blue gown

Covered against the cold-she wore a top red court…

To and fro, sun set at down,

Whilst chicks finds comfort at the bosom of the mother hen

The birds to the nest, amidst her art her best, she lays in the cave.

Left to the mercy of the danger within

Brim with the comfort of sucking mosquitoes, she grieves.

At break, she watches the sun rise,

As the birds sing melody, ‘her soul beam with a smile’

Noon a plate of mashed potatoes and dish.

Midnight is an ugly chipped plate which you alone use, when you’re alone

Sunset a wise dog that ignores even though serve a beef

Her tomorrow seems to promise no hope of a home

The future resembles a cloudy dream

Where the ghost of all her life speaks when it sees dim

It tries to tell her something, but what?         

It has left her to the ail vultures,

As the street lords had shifts on her

Now she is with a bastard child

Rejected by all the father’s, just left aside

Without a comforter to her plea, soon cometh the deserted one

She’d hope it’d be a dream and soon would be awakened by someone…