Prena Poetry

and if you ask me to write a story
i would write about the
utmost tragedy
and every form of tyranny,
ripping the life out of a body.
you would call me insane
for burning down the finest love stories.
while i would just waste my body
over a stale whiskey served in tea cups
and believe insanity as an art.
art; that people like you
vision as an illness.
art; that nomadic lovers like me
conciliate with half educated souls,
dance in a strange bar,
hustle over the supremacy
of stiff necked men,
and lustfully prowl through the morasses seeking for the wakening freedom.
i don’t believe in love,
i believe in graveyards of tragedy,
and then you would ask me,
why the tragedy,
why the agony of a hundred hearts
just for a simple story.
because darling,
that would be
the most beautiful thing
about being a human,
the most powerful
attribution of existence;
to live through the tragedy
and still rise
so majestically.