The Silent Guest Poem by Martins Akhoeneto

A few years had turn four
And deepen ache run sour,
Inside mixed vessels in sapor.
Attrition, attrition, what horror?
That splits vacuum and pain
Enclave in dark shackles’
Of uncompensated anguish, trail
Chocked, mangled to disarray,
It appears within a bright candle wax
Horizon of vanquish, vanquish thralls,
Thralls furs and quit the movie
Strike persistently like dark rain in July
Her innocence pant in pangs
And prick that heart in vain
And strip over our marble roof
And visit toothless grandma too
Leave footprints in hearts
The floor leaves folds of scabbard
He also meets us there, restless.