Simon Mol

Grandmother's Ghost

My
Grandmothers ghost,--
Good, faithful, over and above
Keeps an eye on me.
I lean on Her when a foe’s chagrin
Strives to slur, slay, enslave my soul.
Amid despair’s raging storm I feel Her breathe,
Kindling hope... painting, pointing, paving the way—
Smiling when the rays of a friend’s joy
warms the walls of my weary lonesome soul.
Grandmother’s ghost in my dream, reveals;

telling tales that become tools during the day.
To Her I look, when the weather, in the silence of the night
reveals feelings fighting to blight my flight...
Delay me not to asleep, for Grandmother’s ghost, across the edge,
is waiting to divulge what plans tomorrow holds for me.

(Dedicated to Mba'mba Juliana Etonde)
Warsaw 3:27a.m. - 14/03/06

My Rosy Remains

Could it be that the unrelated burden forced on Nature’s
blush birthed a demon’s gloom wasting to cloud my smile?
Where does its journey end?;
when she sighs, saying,
‘behold my goal— a Star; bright,......far afield, out of reach’?
Is this enough to ruin because I won’t belong?

Your fresh-dawn will soon be here...

I am a game; a fast fleeing deer...
you can own only after bringing down with all you got;
a cruel, blind bullet.

Warsaw, 23:34  - 21/2/06