the dry trashes
and ashes
of the beige grass,
i pass
each time i walk through so fast
at last,
i grossly lost much in must
and dust
out the green in trust,
the stain
on my blood stained
body of pieces had drained
and laid,
with pain
as my eyes failed
to glance at the tailed
mask within the faded
gothics and denied
the grass
a drop of rain,
in cold nights
of dry daylight
as i walked by the dry grass
i pass
each time i walk through so fast
at last
so dry like the grass
in seasons of winter
like wild fires in the deep jungles
blown away by the winds of troubles
swept astray to find so lost like bubbles
of the matters ahead of us....

Onalethuso Petruss Ntema

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-grass-8/