POEM: Fame

KIRSHIN C. GEORGE

They’ll come knocking at my door only
when I am dead. My body will be in there
for a couple of days
and nobody will answer.
They’ll turn away
and the world will forget about me

POEM: The Idea

BY KIRSHIN C. GEORGE

Don’t ponder on it for too long,
don’t let it mature
that’s what steaks are for.
Let it come out of you like a rage,
like a hurricane tearing through
a small city,
like a hungry shark tearing off your limb.
Let it tear you apart
and rebuild yourself
into something more beautiful