Poetry

The ghost of hate, the ghost of existence
On ‘you’- on the other side of the spectrum
It’s me, its you, it’s being
He looks and loathes, then lips then lies
On the corner of his face
He makes a wry
Churning truth and troll
Clinging onto the clear with an opaque bloodiness 
Drifting to and from both ends of his wits 
To capture in a foil 
Pure plight and pursuit 

The ghost of power
In between the digit of his penning 
He weaves the will of his minions to his desired design
He speaks and spurns, you speak he strikes
Taming trust and tide 
Within the circle of his desperation
lurking to cap the sign of an uprising.
Holding on to a future that is not, 
With a fragile grasp that is short
And the grip of his cronies.

The ghost of greed
Turning a blind look to their dearth 
Drowning in their spoils
With liberating mirage promises
In velvety silk words 
And a borrowed speech
 alien to his confidence  
He mortgages their conscience to a lie 
For a clueless time period
On a piny piece of parchment 

The ghost of corruption
He soils his grasp
 With their throes
To fill his gorge 
Quenching his furnace of truth (conscience)  
With a stained flow of brashness 
Ridiculing right at the purchase of a bite 

The ghost of poverty
Ash looks, pale minds
Wrinkled lines running through 
Where she once flowed
Lifeless, loveless and
With a face of obscurity and unsurety
Her boughs boast of no return
Arid to the point of tearlessness
Her breasts, the sole of a fish
Dangling, drooping, but not dripping
Not one of sure strength 
But of the winds and waves of blank hope
Once a source but now a curse
A victim of a struggle
A struggle without a name definite

The ghost of strife
 Dark and gloomy in a rusty atmosphere
Blood and bones adorn the plains
As rustling and rattling crawl down the mountains
He wears that valour just to keep a-pace 
With diligent strides in lazy days
Breaking in clasped palms 
For a convene and a deal 
From all ends of the table
To shed the colours of forlorn fear 
Pain and disease, lack and loss

The ghost of death
It’s of fatality and finality
Spells of the end, 
The end of spells
Like an ominous sign 
The ghost of all 
and all that was