You gona cry

At the bottoms of none!

***

At the Air Port of the KRT,

At the bottom of none!

The Plane un-run

Sun heat is ON,

Self heat is high

Red lights ON,

Bothers are ON,

Red-taping ON,

Smiles gone,

At the bottom of none,

When you step,

Your feet will roll

To the life end

Loop you in dull

It was too hot,

Tending to dry,

You gona cry

Life is tough

Faces are rough

You gona cry

Except for those who stir the stuff

Officials up, you gona cry,

Lobbies anywhere, you gona cry,

At every step

  At every stop

Or at your tomb

 you gona cry,

Lobbies of sons or herd shepherds, you gona cry

Those ones who have, are having more,

Will have no less! Than what they have! And what they gain!

They having fun, without run, for what they say, out of fun

The rest, have not, and none they gain!

Will have no gains! If they don’t die!

Deals kick and run, with all your wants, no dealing again,

If you will lose, or when you gain

This life mode, is gona Sway,

No achievements,

No attainments

It gona dry,

You  gona cry,

if gona try,

Will be inmate, your home is jail,

Circles of none surround again,

Except of those shepherds of herds,

They acting same, without jails, without nails,

Opposing ones aimless anywhere, homeless anywhere,

If gona try,

They gona cry

Existing games are dirty ones

To try them once,

You gona cry

You gona run, and run and run without fun,

Just under a Sun, and dusty rain,

What can you do?  Will miss the train,

Will lose yourself, or lose your son, or no attain,

Under this sun of dirty games,

You might once, going to try, without a deal, even with a run

Find no one stand by you, will lose yourself, and lose your gun

You run, and run, going nowhere, under this sun,

Out of all, with empty hands, and holding none!

You gona cry,

Will Lose your land and gona  cry,

and lose your cash you gona cry

Till you would die, you gona cry,

Land of (Haboob), you gona cry,

Million miles, you gona cry,

Dozens of Niles, will come to dry

You gona cry,

If gona  try, ,

Till you would die, and say good bye,

You gona cry

Some herd is dead, you gona cry,

All faces dolls, you gona cry

Your native die, you gona cry,

Your neighbour die , you gona cry,

No way to grasp the sweeping goals

If you come home,

You wana try

will gona cry,

Spin this off, don’t turn it again,

Don’t miss the train,

But go to step out of home,

Go back to fly, facing anywhere,

Dying any how

Don’t come to cry

Best regards.

Elrafei Bashir Elshafei

Pretoria, South Africa