The Best Advice For The Future King (Raïs)/ Institution Pour L'adolescence Du Roi

Poem By Boniface Mukeshimana

Those nights
when I
pulled away
from sleep
and waited
for my words
to settle in
hunger was
well fed
with thirsty lines
inside a legal pad
written by
my only pen
spitting out
blue ink flowing
with the sounds
of the Grateful Dead
empty bottles
sat on top
of my red
mahogany piano
basking in the
brilliance of the moon
peeking through
my open windows
teasing my four cats
wide awake and
waiting for something
to get trapped
between myself
and maybe them
before the shadows
slowly vanished
to let our moments
of youth escape
before another day
would show its face
and take away
what was not written
and never would be…

Comments about The Best Advice For The Future King (Raïs)/ Institution Pour L'adolescence Du Roi

Frankly I am shocked not to see any comments below this fine piece of words....seems the mention of the, ''grateful dead''' always manages to shoo them away. I know exactly where you are coming from Charles...I've seen them Live...and my dreams have turned into words....

Other poems of MUKESHIMANA


Not any character of the jungle,
At the time power was kept by the single
Lion kind, risked jumping into the lions’ jaws,
Against their rapacity raising paws:

They Fight Like Heroes And Die Like Mortals

For the sake of those they love they forget
Themselves they love. For themselves they will fight,
Crawling in bushes, promotion to get.
They fight as if life is only their right.*

When The World Is Put On Its Knees

When at church man is on his knees
to adore the Most High,
he takes the right pride in the rite.

In The House

Therein is birth
Then age calls death
As at the dawn
There light is born

Te Regardant Passer

Te regardant passer grande beauté voisine,
Belle comme une Aurore, et puis comme un Soleil,
Je pensai voir une fée d'un même teint pareil,
Croissantes en beauté, l'une à l'autre voisine.

Quand Vous Serez Bien Vieille

Quand vous serez bien vieille, au soir, à la chandelle,
Assise auprès du feu, dévidant et filant,
Direz, chantant mes vers, en vous émerveillant:
Boni me célébrait du temps que j’étais belle.