I am a chef
That cook the meal for your soul…
This meal I cook,
Not from plants and flesh
But from the recipes of lexicons
Served in inky scrolls.

My ingredients are green and raw,
Fetched from the very depth of life;
Spiced with rhymes and rhythms
For the musicality of flow.

This meal is tasty, soured and bitter!
Each according to the soul served:
The oppressors eat of it
And hear the songs of the oppressed;
The wicked drink of it
And feel the pains of the afflicted.

Let the world draw nigh
To the poetic table
For a poetic banquet….
Come not to fill your flesh
But your hungry souls.

Draw nigh, all ye low and lofty,
Dish out your dish from my poetic dish….
Let the hopeless taste of it
And receive hope
And the weary hearted, respite
For poetry is the food for the soul.
Inked By: Purity Onyam

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