Nix, Open those eyes.

Don’t say nix lass,
It’s not how it appears, is it?
It hurts but just open your eyes,
Let the beams of light fathom what you are
Your soul,
Ere letting it go.

Don’t say nix lass,
Those lads don’t appear like the clouds above,
Ergo, stay within the brim
It’s hurting I know but there’s lots of nosh,
Just open up your eyes
And grind every bite you saw.

© Inkofcompassion | Harry



It’s been almost forever since I embraced you in the heart of my sleeve,
You used to laugh at me,
When I flipped eggs off the skillet tossing all over our feet,
You held my hand softly,
Dispelling every doubt preventing my unaccomplished dreams,
Nothing will replace the trust we’ve built
Beyond this bridge,
Your vision is as clear as a King unleashing decrees.

When we could go by the park, say Hi to people,
Light fireworks,
And then run as fast,
Remember when our pranks we’re bad,
Almost got us skinned by the supermarket guard
Who looked like someone who swallowed a kit of drums,
You would smile at strangers giving them something to eat,
Clothes to dress in,
Purest of beauty: A flourishing enchantment uncovering my unspoken belief.

When you come home suevenna
You’ll find your favorite seat unoccupied
The spot which we danced and danced entangling each other like weeds,
You’ll find every drawing that you heartily submitted from within,
You’ll find me,
This time not through voice calls and videos,
But a sincere touch of my lip.

© Inkofcompassion | Harry.

Coated Groans

In a world of drought and broken bowls
Her soul dreaded to be home.
Painted words of discomforting trust,
Her own,
She didn’t even bother to recall despite the recurring
Wispers of her mother’s voice
Begging her not to let go.

Weeks of torture and complete distortion.
Still enslaved to her mind dreading to get home,
Perhaps, spend time with that ugly doll
That was as a result of a broken sun
Shone in a benevolence of a romantic war.

Still cold,
Her mind held on to the rails of those walls
Blocking her soul from getting any close,
Her home,
Just few steps away keeps her violently insane
While that painted wall screams to the top of it’s formidable groan.

© Inkofcompassion | Harry


This was his usual,
To give hope to the lost and purest of love like a daily dose,
No one knew his home,
Not mindful of the thorns which burrowed countless holes,
Spreading tears of love sucking all his sores.

The fact that he gave out his only pair of sandals to the Prince of Rome,
Putting down his crown to join a table of Pigs from Pork,
This man,
Appeared to be nothing more,
But Humble.

Neither did he a branch broke,
Nor shoot venomous arrows at his rivals around the clock,
Was his usual,
To give hope to the lost and purest of love like a daily dose.

He pleaded guilty of Sin,
The Pigs from Pork consistently spat at him,
Claiming that he stole all the trash-cans from within
He deserves nails,
Straight through his hands and feet.

Still, nailed by Love,
He cried not to a soul,
He looked down with Love into the eyes of the Pigs from Pork,
Assuring them that when it’s done,
They’ll join a table filled with Kings and God.

© Inkofcompassion | Harry

Ghosts with Love

You’ve been served good sir,
Wet fried salmon dressed with zest
Served with a slice of brown-baked ugali
A glass of palm juice to sway your quench.

That’s how a pilot met a Chef.
Subsequent delicious meals which paved way for the pilot
Descending planes,
On this plateau of tables and plates,
Then love never fades.

Glitters of fate,
Drove in with a bunch of plans
Those nine months away,
A poet replicates.
Then vows mitigate
When this captain lost his hind limbs in a car crush
And the Chef, no closer to cooperate.

Bitterness engulfed this union,
Voices of doubt that nothing was enough,
And alcohol was a curse, so knives and stones would scratch
Itching these ears and tears of the Poet as he mumbled in plea.
So the chef packed her knives
Fled from the pilot leaving the worst of her plight,
Changes this hybrid into something not even herself to recognize.

©Inkofcompassion| Harry

Acts Three


He sat at this gate beautiful.
Never the grass, or hisses of people who
Always pass,
Leaving a handful of crumbs
Which he gladly pulls back with a thrust.
And then,
Stretching forth his hand.

He sat at this gate beautiful,
Every Dusk and Dawn,
Hopeful to fend something,
Never the grass, or hisses of people who always pass
But the crumbs.
And then stretching his hand,
Peter and John stood with nothing but a bundle of Powerful words
“In the name of the Lord, stand and dance.”

©InkofCompassion | Harry