by Amos Momo Ngumbu Jr
Will dead excuses be the language spoken, Through his ears? Will my face be hidden while narrating The story of my past? So lonely I am, For guiltiness has eaten, Up my face in its silent mood. My mind can no longer, Capture the scene of the past. Sorrow and beer bottles were my daily meals. Some admired my looks. While some called me aside for advice, But insults were their daily results. I now regret my past, If I am to miss the gateway of heaven, Who will l blame? Would it be the night clubs or sin? Would it be my crushes who have turned to roaches? I was born as a servant of God, But, The gravity of night clubs and material things, Have pulled me down. My heart is now a place of discomfort.
Amos Momo Ngumbu Jr. writes from somewhere in Monrovia, Liberia. His works are forthcoming in Poetry Soup and We Write Liberia website. He is also the author of the chapbook called ‘Africa Weep No More”. When this lad is not writing a poem, he finds comfort in graphic designing with his laptop as well as reading books.