Concrete dust drifts like sand across a coastal path.
An old woman battered with facial features that hung on her face,
Disconnected and hanging.
She leans forward in her blumonge, waterproof, unwashed nylon flares from Matalan.
They ruffle in the wind as she looks out withdrawn onto the A350.
Her gaze is muffled by a sheen of intoxication,
She tries with the majority of her self to keep her lids from closing,
Mascara encrusted into the creases of her skin,
Almost soldering her lashes together in a gluelike fashion.
Leans hazardously towards the path of oncoming traffic,
Gesturing with open arms to the creatures of metal that push past her.
The only trace of their moment in time is a gust that pushes her body back to safety as it, Confused and unobservant,
Collapses onto the urban stream that claims her yet again.
I watch as she continues to stumble on,
Reaching out to every vehicle that steams on past,
She does not see me.
She is clogged by something greater and more sombre than I know.
She is a perfect reflection of the time and place,
She is what we all are feeling but continue not to show in fear of the outcome.
She is us.
Mirror, mirror, on the wall,
Damn, my reflection enthralls them all.
No Medusa's gaze, no serpent's hiss,
My presence alone, sheer, potent bliss.
No need for coils or stony stare,
My impact's etched in the very air.
A kiss of stone? How quaint, how mild,
My very being drives mortals wild.
I am fly, a dazzling dream,
My walk, my talk, an astral gleam.
Each mirror aches with envy's sting,
To capture the aura that my essence brings.
I blaze into the room, a sunlit tide,
Where shadows cower and darkness hide.
Each step a vibrant, dazzling show, Bewitching, blinding, watch them glow.
They shield their eyes, the onlooker's frail,
Against the brilliance of my radiant trail.
Wear shades, they must, to bear the sight,
My shine's a power, intense and bright.
A health warning glitters, sharp and clear,
Heatstroke, heart attack, a looming fear.
Some may just stroke out, overwhelmed,
By the potent magic I've compelled.
My shine isn't for all ages!
The town, betrayed by time passed, lies forsaken.
Lost, lain memories, like tumble weeds, awaken
To the prod of windy wisps, and roll willy nilly,
Hazardously rendering any hope of revival as silly.
Whispers of the past, wind borne, quickly fade,
Always out of hearing, always too soft, under the breath, played.
But, echoing clearly, that what once was, could never be again.
The once vibrant colors and sounds of the town, fade to a stain refrain.
Like tombstones snarled by weeds in cemetery,
The buildings cast shadows gnarled by ancestry
Abandoned, betrayed, cast aside by the hands of time,
The town's beauty unkempt, now shrouded in dust and grime.
The bustling life and laughter that once filled the air,
Are now hushed solemn, reeking with a sense of deep despair,
Ghosts, that are now the only permanent residents,
Drive tourists away, with their hostile reticence.
Abandonment, is all hope lost, forlorn and tossed away,
Into a pile of junk to rot, rust, crumble, flay, decay.
WE WENT HAYWIRE
The fruit of horrendous hurry
Hung appeasingly aloof
On a green tree with white lumpy leave
Situated amidst a green garden
We harvested it imperiously
The day we went hay wire woefully
The day we hurried for inadvertent independence
Six months old premature pregnancy
Hurried to breathe brazenly
Hurried to wean wretchedly
Viewed Mrs. Colonisation as a messed milk
Now we hurry to her for magic milk
Now we hazardously hurry
Hurry for a derailed democracy
Hurry for an unwieldy unity
Hurry for a callous change
Hurry for a grievous government
A little more prudent patience
Would have that manifest magic
Which current leaders preposterously promise
©Kporho Vwede Daniel
07067333949
(IG: General Ali official)
All rights reserved
How I'll miss city life,
hail taxis day or night,
hazardously they drive,
hope I arrive alive,
hear all the traffic noise,
horns tooting full of scorn,
harsh looks are all around,
hang on your country bound.
2-18-17