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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required In this complex box of world, compact box of world, where all are jumbled – fumbled, where the mightier reign their voice, others adore their choice, how? how can I guide you to nail a steadfast identity, a fixed poetic self? I dreamed, as a young poet, bearded like a pard. I stood at an imagined crossroad … read name posts, hanging higher: Satire - Beauty - Tragedy not knowing on which one to go, but I wanted to make a choice: the right choice, only one choice. “Satire” – I knew can lead me to be A satirist, a wordsmith very rude, We met in Thesmophoriazusae Or in Shadwell’s aching bruise. A satirist comes with a plan to hurt, With an utterly smelly line of dirt, A truly an innocent, honest heart And to rot his own heart and art. “Beauty” – a greener, flowery path, with a dreamy, fairy castle in its end I knew I can lead me to be a beautician. I felt I can cover a spoiled city of stench with a magical carpet with soft fur, and being at a distant, adore its glory, a dreamy, fairy, flurry castle. Tossed I my head, “I’m not for that”. The pothole road in mid I knew would lead me to be a tragedian, and walk amidst the public, tossing…. a bomb, or with a tripod camera, and wait till the enemy comes. Challenging and difficult it might be, yet I thought a tragedian I should be, a social critic, a fighter against injustice. That’s history. That was my dream. - a living, breathing daydream - I believe now a poet has no bounds, no limits, no constraints, no fixed identities. In this compact box of world, I want to be slippery. Slippery I will be as a fish, and will slip …… and … shift through identities, shuttle between poetic selves, to live, just to survive, avoiding briers, for my wounds still bleed … still ache. * A 1st Place* in the following contest (judged on Dec. 30, 2020) Dec. 17, 2020 Your Advice To The Youth Poetry Contest Contest sponsor: Edward Ibeh
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