An Half-Buried Corncob
Calling and hooting
to the wind tiptoeing
along the terrified face
of the wriggling curtain
looking through the window
at the trees and their dark ghosts
casted upon the blood of
the moon o'er the floor-
where loll a breathless frog
silent as a voiceless doll,
the wind to the wall came
now pulling on the curtain
to drag it under the rain,
where under the soil
an half-buried corncob.
The thunder-stricken eyes
of the silence is slized
with the crying of a cock
symphatised with the clock
burying yesternight
in the grave of the calender
and not under the floor
where there's an half-buried corncob.
As the dawn is fallen
the sun is rising
with a brand new light
spreading over the grave of yester-night
in the graveyard of the calender
which was from a sweetheart
a girl with lips stolen from heaven
who was once by this oven
baking her birthday cake
while the radius of her waist
I measure without a tape
but the hope to have a taste
both of the cake and her lips
which is more red or gold
red than the chilly rose
gold than the dripping oil of the sun
where loll the half-buried corncob.
The cock at watch
with his eyes afore
casting the rays
where the head is raised
the head of a somnambulistic worm
from where loll the half-buried corncob.
O'er my bed
worries bereft
under the blanket I loll
like the half-buried corncob.
It's the hatching of Sunday
hatching under the sunrays-
the egg of an angry hen
cracking under my pen
for how beautifully I draw it
without my drawing things,
I painted a drop of blood
where loll an half-buried corncob.
Copyright © Ibrahim Clouds | Year Posted 2018
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