Brightly put
Sun-Ra got its fix,
A stick, not so long ago, a snake;
O, the sea imbibed its fire.
The sun, almost not, in Munster,
Man crusaded its rays,
O, the sun-shined not.
Sunrays, by a hair, on its empire,
London plumped under mist,
O, the mist imbibed its rays.
Kaiser Wilhelm too –
Fancied his place under the sun,
O, but the sun not.
This sun over the Fugees isn’t as bright,
As the sun behind;
O, the snow imbibed its rays.
This sun will not reveal,
A titillating wish,
O, what a kinky truth.
© Diabel Faye, Berlin subways, 09/02/2016
Fugees = refugees
