Inside the hut, my heart the mud

| a poem by nublaccsoul x new-black-soul

And my father’s younger brother,

UTat’omncinci uSmiso

stood tall, with his bean bowed

feet floating like faulty heaven.

If I continued with that B.Com degree

I would have been him. A host for his ghost.

But, unlike you all, I drove myself here, to this hell.

The imaginary walls close-in,

a real claustrophobia creeps out from within,

I find myself in limbo, above the dead but below the living.

Photo by Andreea Popa on Unsplash

No! Ma’ can’t be blamed for dropping me off.

This is free-will, formulated by fate.

Each feeding into the other in an endless loop.

An interchangeable cause and effect.

What caused the effect, and who was affected by this cause?

Photo by K. Mitch Hodge on Unsplash

Emaciated frames of Hanged Men do not wear any joy.

| a poem by nublaccsoul x new-black-soul

Writer/Poet | This is ancestral, past-life reading; this is meditation & prayer; this is future telling. Always becoming. The undying soul in a decaying case.

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