By Baba Galleh Jallow
He threw beauty upon him
And limped away
After he had shared of his heart
And walked off
In search of beauty
* * * *
He sits
Chained to a pillar
That itself has no shoulder
Upon which to cry
That itself could only stand
On its single leg
Awaiting fate
* * * *
The wooden tiger
Glared from the page
At the real tiger
As if to say
What to do bro?
Ends