A Hand-written Book – Vincent Edward Manda

All the way until its end,

This city is mine.

Every street, every corner,

Every nook, cranny and bend,

All the hidden bits where words unspoken fall on deaf ears;

They’re all mine.


Every bit that you know

I know.

Everything said

I have heard.


Don’t ever doubt it

I know every nook and cranny

And there is no way out.


You have been invited to stay

And in this city you can play,

But the rules are set

And nothing ever changes.


What you may see and think new

Has always been here

Just hidden from view.

This is my city;

A city I fashioned with a mind not so clear.


This city lives and thrives;

In this city the wicked hide.

This city always fights before it dies;

In this city angels can fly.


I own this city and it is open to judgement,

So judge it as you will,

But remember

I own this city;

It was cast from my iron will.


his name rhymes with ‘mince’. He’s rarely without a notebook and can usually be found next to the closest bottle of red wine. Previously a writer for The Roehampton Lane Journal.

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