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Steven Ureke Poem
It is funny!
Very funny how
A masked preacher can preach honesty;
And even points at the wrongs with his
Fingers of hypocritical righteousness…
We stare with grim satisfaction
Because the black winged Angel
Ridding a flaming chariot tells a tale;
And proclaims that God is love,
Yet he, himself is an Angel of death.
Day after wretched day Humanity walks!
He walks down the dark alley of freedom;
Freedom which shouts fairness;
Fairness that begets confusion—
And he tries to bottle the spittle of birds…
Every night he lies in bed and tries to hear
The voice of fishes shouting gender and Sexualty in a world where the scale of
Equality is unevenly proportional and
Equal rights mean the oppression of men.
Apartheid, the history of Mzanzi is
The present for the African world and
That has caused his inferiority complexes
To suffice and personalize racism and
One after another, generations play along.
Lest we forget,
The victims are just as guilty
As the perpetrators but at some point.
Humanity weeps as he inspects
His isle of hopelessness!
But just like the majority, men;
They cry in hiding.
Where no-one sees,
No-one hears and
No-one dares speak for the black sheep!
Deep down this egocentric radicalism,
He orders rotten eggs to make an omelette
With which he feeds pirate justice,
And he goes all year long
On a running stomach.
Although the words never sink,
Humanity hearkens to
The rumbling stomach of justice but
When the rainbow of life turns
Grey!
Humanity's children cry day and night
While the Angel of death entrusted
Their protection feasts on their tears
And dances to the beautiful sound
Of their troubled voices.
And when the wolf comes for their
Brazen souls we hail at the smiling lady
Who says 'I am virgin Mary'
With fangs behind her white vail
And poison under her tongue—death!
The rich are poor but morally,
Yet no-one sees
And no-one cares;
They say 'each one for himself'
Come shall the final hour do.
It is funny!
Very funny how
A masked preacher can preach honesty;
And even points at the wrongs with his
Fingers of hypocritical righteousness…
Humanity looks on
And passes his judgement.
The masked preacher scoffs:
“No-one is perfect.
No, not one!”
Copyright © Steven Ureke | Year Posted 2020
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Steven Ureke Poem
A dying woman's suicide note.
While writing,
I am trying to find a reason to live.
Amidst this chaos of heartbreaks,
A coward have I become!
I have forgotten how sweet
The bell of hope rings;
When the finger of God has already
Inscribed 'DOOM' on the walls of my life.
That garden of life which used to blossom;
The roses changed to thorns and
The stars we used to gaze at, sky high;
Have turned into stones.
Maybe I became insensitive to pain,
I do not remember how it feels to bleed;
But I can feel life bleeding out of me,
This blood—the only sign that I lived!
I lived dining on antidepressants because
My pain could not possibly be remedied
By the contents found in a first aid kit.
I loved!
I loved you more than life
Because you were a mother's prayer
For a father's protection being answered;
I dreamt!
I dreamt you would be my reason:
My reason to live on
In the face of tragedy;
I believed!
I believed pain would come and go,
Like the night turns into day—seasons.
If only I lasted longer;
But so would the pain—IF!...
I became a piece of TNT lit on both ends,
And blowing up was eventual.
I can feel that flame of life dying
And the gates of hell calling!
Calling. Calling. Calling.
The grim reaper knocks at my door,
Ready to collect my soul—
I called him.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
My savior, my salvation?!
The world would be better without me,
What of you my child?
Remember. Remember. Remember.
I gave you life,
And for you I will lose mine
But not because of you.
Live on?
I would say,
But I still want to be a good mother. Yes!
Even in death!
My baby, my joy.
For you I will live
But the blood on this paper
Tells me my hour has come.
Happy to be going,
But sad to be leaving you behind am I.
Darkness is blackening my sky,
A deep sleep imminent—death!
I can already see a vision of me.
I am looking down from a place above
For my sorrows are compensated;
Death loves the troubled!
Death whispers in my ear,
His words sound like a soft crescendo
Of a comforting lullaby.
His song is my farewell...
Written in blood,
Every letter red.
At the very least,
I died smiling!...
Copyright © Steven Ureke | Year Posted 2020
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Steven Ureke Poem
Butterflies make me
Shiver
And speachless.
My mind freezes,
My blood flows backwards.
Butterflies make me
Quiver
And breathless.
My being astounded,
My faith questionable.
Butterflies make me in
Flatter
And break hearts.
My selfish desires satisfied,
My heart left to joy.
Deep in my stomach
They fly and never stop,
They laugh till they shed tears,
They love but for a little time,
Butterflies make me!
Copyright © Steven Ureke | Year Posted 2020
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Steven Ureke Poem
Tonight I can write the saddest poem.
I can write that the heavens are sad that's why the stars are dark,
Or the heavens are heartbroken that's why the rain is red.
Tonight I can fall in love
If you can convince me that I am worth loving
Regardless of the fact that I am a toxic infection.
Tonight I can write the saddest poem with tears on my fingers
And a heart broken pen
That narrates how I feel dejected and rejected.
Tonight I can be a grateful man.
I can thank you for showing me that it does not matter
How true you feel or how hard you fall.
Tonight I can thank you for being a great teacher;
For teaching me how to burn hearts on a pyre and flush away true love.
And above all, for giving me a reason to never love a human.
Tonight I can write lines like,
Love and reciprocity do not exist in the world of humans;
And only God can love you unconditionally.
Tonight I can speak to the moon
If you call me by my name and tell me you love me,
Even if you are lying.
Tonight I can write the saddest poem.
I can write about my feelings for you
And they would be the saddest you ever knew.
Tonight i can tell a story of how
You dream of storybooks and mythical creatures
And of how your eyes when into mine pierce they declare desire.
I can write a poem with lines like,
Your love for me is bigfoot and unicorns;
Nonexistent!
Tonight I can write the saddest poem.
I can write lines to jerk your tears when they tell
How it is so hot that I miss your cold shoulder.
I am quickly replacing memories of you;
I wrote down whatever I had left of that love
And folded it into a paper plane.
Only tonight will I take time to wish you would rest in peace,
For tomorrow you will be a bad dream
That I woke up from and already forgotten.
Ace of Spades
Copyright © Steven Ureke | Year Posted 2022
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Steven Ureke Poem
"You don't belong here!"
They said.
They doubted the authenticity
Of my identity.
Black night bade me come in,
Provided I sang a song.
Paroxysms of regret filled my song;
The monotonous song from my ektara.
It was a parody of how the sun rises;
And zoetropically sets.
To unveil the black night.
It felt as though the pants had been
Yanked right off my melancholy.
The polka dot boxers underneath
Were memories, regrets and yearnings.
They were scattered like foreign coins
On the side walk and
Not even beggars could pick them up
For they were worthless in that country,
Corresponding to nothing but themselves.
To be righteously indignant and selfish,
Black night taught me.
My packing paraphernalia converged
In the room where I kept the tune of my
Monotonous song and soundless ektara.
My host though bright and caring,
Had hidden many truths from my soul
For fear it would be broken further.
I pulled the pants of pride up
My melancholy and gathered my shekels.
I shuffled off into the next chapter of life,
An instructive detour complete.
Black night wiped off my invisible tears.
Black night was a knight in white
But unrighteous in his cause which he
Veneered behind a triad to give it colour.
Black night bade me come in,
Provided I sang a song.
Paroxysms of regret filled my song;
The monotonous song from my ektara.
As I struck its string
Black night nodded his head
As if enjoying the sound of my sorrow.
Black night deceived me!
Copyright © Steven Ureke | Year Posted 2020
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Steven Ureke Poem
That room;
And the bathroom too,
She made them alien territory.
My petty sentiments kicked in,
And made me a slave to my roommate.
The scented atmosphere, stockings;
Frilly brassieres in plain sight,
And blouses bright as gardens—thrilling,
But foreign!
Lo, an invasive roommate.
Some mornings she would come
Out of the bathroom in a cloud of steam:
Hair in a towel— enchantingly beautiful :
A leg flashing from her bathrobe;
The roommate's pre-dating game.
Some nights she would stay in bed.
The seductive V beneath her throat aloof.
She thought it so peaceful to be with me.
She would leave my mind intertwisted;
The ideal roommate for me.
She would talk about her lover
In such excruciating detail,
But the whispery flute of her voice
Was so light it made everything
Around her seem heavy and harsh.
My jowls sagged as they listened to her.
I sat with her like those monoliths,
My squat boulders plumped upright.
I regretted every night I let her
Sleep on the bed next to mine.
The soft breaths of my sleeping beauty
Would leave me dreaming of dominion.
I would gaze at her face for a little while;
Longer everyday because
She was my roommate.
Once she went away for a night.
I left the lights off and just stood there;
I just breathed the alien air,the perfume.
Then I crept to her closet; I reached inside;
I hid a letter for her to find.
She read my letter and one night
She was scared of the dark.
She invited me over to her bed.
My hand rubbed against her velvet skin
And my little heart played rock 'n' roll.
I rubbed a slip of hers between my fingers It was so sheer it seemed to catch on
The ridges of my fingerprints.
That night I had my very first kiss
From my roommate.
Copyright © Steven Ureke | Year Posted 2020
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Steven Ureke Poem
A conversation between a lady of noble birth and a certain gentleman as recorded by Steven Ureke in one of his Poetry Journals.
O, maiden!
What beauty you portray.
For a mother,
You are perfect for my children;
And for a companion,
You are Eve
But more obedient.
O, ragged man!
What audacity causes you
To dare woo a princess like I?
In my kingdom,
Men like you live and die
Like pigs in a sty
On a deserted home.
Forgive me if I tread
Further than my feet can go.
I dare woo a princess because I dream:
I dream of becoming a King
Although I am no royalty.
What way could be shorter
Than to marry a princess?
If you brought a diamond ring
And provide more;
More than my father ever could,
Then I will reconsider.
If you wear silver for shoes and
Live in a house made out of gold
Then I will be your wife!
What shame!
All the riches of my household
Will not amount to a single shoe of silver,
What more a house made out of gold.
If I can put a roof over your head
And on our table, food;
Will that be enough?
How can I trade extravagancy
For food and a roof and love?
I dreamt that for my honeymoon
A visit to the moon.
On birthdays,
A star for a gift.
I certainly am not for you.
I live off my sweat and blood:
From hand to mouth
And a princess is not for me.
If you sat for a while and listened
To my vision
And the things I see in my dreams
You will know I am worthy of your heart.
What offence!
My heart is an Emerald.
It is coated in Jadestone.
I choose who is worthy a knight
And you dare claim your worth?
You are a weed that has grown
Where it is unwanted.
O, maiden fair,
It is only fair that I leave.
My love is a reality;
One you have always read in books
And admired.
I could wear the armor
In your father's closet and earn his trust.
Alas, you deem me unfit!
Ages passed and days turned into seasons....
Check out my Facebook page for full script.
https://www.facebook.com/100746275117651/posts/136848318174113/?app=fbl
Copyright © Steven Ureke | Year Posted 2020
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Steven Ureke Poem
I thought of you with love today,
But that is nothing new
Because I thought about you yesterday
And days before that too.
I think of you in silence
And often speak your name in my sleep
But you never notice though you sleep next to me.
Seven billion smiles around but yours is my favourite.
Your smile leaves me defenseless
But I never told you because you think I hate women.
I have been drawing zigs and zags on a sentimental notepad
Of unchecked emotions and mismanaged feelings.
My dark thoughts of horror nights on the red couch told me
To press mute on feelings and see how loud hurt sounds.
I am slowly becoming a violin with broken strings.
Each time they strike my chords the song is how beautiful you are,
But I am running out of words so I end up groaning in discord.
Your personality is a cast of characters unseen even in a mystery movie.
It is a collaboration of sanity and hurt;
Requiring the most careful focus on details if you are to understand.
Agnes, you are turning into a bad and dark thought I wish I never had.
You are a work of art;
I am not the first to say.
You are as beautiful as a Victorian orchestra symphony.
The gently formed and polished image when you stand
Is as unique as the perfect hands that assembled you.
You are a form of molten fire that erupts like a volcano
Each time my thoughts meet you in Dreamland.
Wired to the present reality,
You are Mary and I am Joseph.
We could make the messiah
But since nothing happens that first time,
We will make a James.
It would be a knotty outcome –
And truly I will love you much more deeply than I dare try to express.
Agnes, Maria was my crime,
You are my sentence.
Ace of Spades
Copyright © Steven Ureke | Year Posted 2022
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Steven Ureke Poem
How does it feel to be broken hearted,
To be hurt because you loved?
Does it hurt as much as a broken bone,
Or worse?
The pain stays, but for a short while.
Except in cases rare, it goes an extra mile.
How does it feel to be a man who has been
To a concert with a woman in a red dress?
Does it feel short lived
Like a drunkard's oblivion?
The feeling lasts, but for a short time;
A second or two worth more than a dime.
How does it feel to love;
To love and then break a heart?
Is it the same feeling you have when you
Disobey the ten commandments?
It is much more pleasant a sin,
Condemning more than does fornication!
How does it feel to be young again,
And see with childhood innocence?
If granted be druthers,
Would you choose to be young again?
If it means building castles of glass
And riding unicorns in dreamland; yes!
How does it feel to know
That dreams disappear when you awake?
Does it feel like lost time wasted while
Searching for a tear drop in the ocean?
It feels as real as losing a loved one,
But less painful for no one will be gone.
How does it feel to find no answer,
When it is all you need?
Is it as thrilling as a nightmare be,
Or much more shuddery?
It hurts as much as hating,
But at times peace does bring.
Copyright © Steven Ureke | Year Posted 2020
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Steven Ureke Poem
I used to be a poet…
A god among man became I
Until one day I met a maiden fair.
She was as lovely as a dream of heaven;
Hell on earth to punish my profanity.
More than a gift sent from heaven
Was she, but heaven;
Thought I:
For my sanity ceased to be
At her site.
Her smile told a story;
A story scary but worth listening to.
Each time and again I felt her teeth
Peeling away my flesh,
One bite at a time.
I flirted with the devil ignorant to
The repacussions of my little stunts.
In no time I was held by the neck—
Jaws of death;
The certificate ‘my Angelina’ signed.
I was never taught and I never knew
What it was, the golden rule:
Do so to others as you
Want them to do likewise to you;
Until I took a sip from her bottle in awe.
The hearts I broke prior,
As if by ether, transmitted
Their pain to mine.
All around me was pain written
In blood a symbol of vengeance.
The pain of a heartbreak jerked me awake.
I paid reverence to my guardian Angel,
Who my fears made known in a dream!
And ever since then, before I break a heart,
I imagine the pain!
Copyright © Steven Ureke | Year Posted 2020
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