my good bottle






One bottle for my sorrow
Another for the blink morrow
One for my nagging wife


A sip for lost honor
Another before that suffocating corner
One more for this my battered life


A pint for my towering bill
Another for the landlord’s zeal
One for my sulfur-breathing creditors

Just this glass for love unrequited
One more for the job I’ve been fired
A sip for all my haters

One more hour, one more please
Another bottle please, another
I’m paying, ain’t I?


One more, one more and I’m drowned
Another glass and I’m ruined
Another casualty to booze driving
One more statistic, one more victim
I’ve become

One more life maimed
May be lost
A child orphaned
Relationships wretched
Just coz of alcohol
Of emotions untamed
Of misguided escapism to the bottle













Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

meditations

Am I (we) real or not? Sometimes I think I might wake up to find I’m no more (or never were) There are those times I wonder if my being (or all that which make me think I am ) is but just an illusion. One person told me the very fact that I’m questioning my very existence is proof that I exist. But it could be possible that I, the question and even you do not exist because all of this is an illusion. What about the fact that I can behold the Universe, perceive the numerous colours, animals, people, objects, etc? Doesn’t this prove that at least something exists and thus by extrapolation precipitate a probability that I could be part of that “something’’ and hence existing as well? This argument may not stand because it’s just mere tautology. It is like saying impossibility is that which is impossible to be done! This is because my question does not end with me but extends to those other things we consider as existing. Now before anyone points me to science, science is a child of being...
Read more

a young man's reflections on political landscape in Kenya

In those few years I’ve seen it all I’ve had it rough, rise and fall My insignificant entry at the door of the last decade I’d not sat down for comfort, only for that tide This was said to be the birth of a new Republic A second one, purchased in toil for our sake Young I was, clueless and ignorant Craving, that mine birth were that significant For I was the life to the born republic Marking departure from that first relic But Thomasses said ‘twas all propaganda Propagated by a caucus of political simpletons Seeing this could only drift us asunder All said and done, ‘twas a walk in blinding fog Their bolt speed reduced to a painful jog Like kids, their fighting’d gave him the gap Only to wake to this fact While devoid of any tact Five years down the line, all was familiar The scenario was all the same as earlier This time though these were fools They’d stood still for him like filthy pools They’d let him have it again ...
Read more