Skip to main content

GOOD IS EVIL; EVIL IS GOOD



Good is good
Bad is bad
Good is bad
Bad is good
Evil is as sweet as the good it does
Good is as bitter as the evil it does
Good is as good as the good it does
Evil is as evil as the evil does.
Don’t judge me
I won’t judge you

A man dies to live
A man lives to later die
Taste the bitterness of bile
It’s as sweet as fresh honey
In the mouth of pleasers
Take sweetness, touch its skin
It’s wet, yes, take it to mouth and taste it
How does it feel?
As bitter as nothing else?
Love is the hatred of a mind
And hatred is the love that dwells in another’s chest
Don’t judge me
I won’t judge you

A prophet is not known in his abode
But in another man’s castle he is heard
The faeces of man is trouble to man
But joy to the flies and maggots that blesses its giver
Don’t judge me!
What you like is hatred to me,
I won’t judge you,
What I hate is lovely to you.
I won’t judge you.

The swelling of a woman
Is the glamour I seek
Gosh! Skinny woman
Is a stocked paradise of fat.
See that fat skirt
I so dislike fat skirts
But skins marrying bones
That my desire clings
Just don’t judge me
And I won’t judge you.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

WHO DOES THIS BELONG TO? By MIDÉ BENEDICT

This is for those Who see life as an unfair land, Where growth is fairly found only On luck's fragile and ferocious tree: It is for those whose eyes only See reality as a coin Always tossed to uncertainty: For those who see misery As an inescapable ditch, Never to be seen when its mouth agars, Never to be escaped when its venom runs, But to be delivered like a slave for a ritual, Thrown like a cotyledon into dry soil, To germinate failure like a blocked well, Hoping to salvage a droughty throat. For those whose first name is lucky, Whose last name is uncertainty And middle name misery, Know that which you know not that The poison in your tongue is The wine your life drinks; It drinks on and on till stupor calls for death And stupidity dresses its grave Like a young man before a mirror, Staring unthinkingly at his face, Till he sees greyness in his eyes. This is for those who see eye to eye With the words on this slate. Image by Midé Benedict

God and The Snail: Poetry For Some One Lost Soul

Sometimes it feels Like all is done, That this life of ours Is caught in deadly thorns: From where we cry for help in a land Where to have ears is a great taboo! But in all these... we remember...

Mute by Mide Benedict

That Friday, everyone was spitless, yet it felt as if we spoke all at once in fading tones. Adiza, Halimat's sister wore it differently, her eyes, blood red, her tongue, twisted. Mine was twisted too. Halimat laid right there, silent and unmoving; each gaze at her drove tears out of my eyes.