Waxing lyrical, my words are philosophical.
Competition empirical, my life is spiritual.
I am mastering my fate. Learning to simmer the hate.
Getting up from my fall. Becoming a captain to my soul.
I shift my keys when typing. Capitalizing on your yapping.
My prose and poetry is in cursive. Connected so in your mind they are intrusive.
Look at the world try to run the bandit. I need it to learn, I hypnotise I’m the Gambit.
They call me a poet. Fools, I am Nike, I just do it.
I have been shamed, I’ve been blamed.
But one day on your walls, I’ll be framed.
I don’t spit, maybe I ain’t got enough saliva.
But at the rhyme’s end I am the lone survivor.
I’m an African that’s how I know I can.
Had a constipated mind. That’s why I de-Colon-ised.
Now I rhyme and flow in the languages of the world.
I don’t mime, I show up and free the hostages from the wild.
Laughing at the laxity of my lexicon.
Surpassing the sorcery of any septon.
Grappling with gaudy geekiness.
Fighting ferociously for word fielty.
Did I lose you in the annals of my hubris?
Left you at the junction of my thought maze?
The smile of my light will bring you bliss.
However long the eons you shall emerge from the haze.
For my heart is no longer on my sleeve but in my hands.
My hurt no longer in my sleep but in my words.
The Divine Bandit™ 