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Nweke Osinakachukwu Poem
On the shoulders of avid days
I stride on its lips with a pot made of clays
Inquest of fecund fields to preen what pays
Both the days we suture its coral rays
And days its name wears mystery
I schooled forth lapping the mile’s misery:
Worries a spoon, jester a stew, despair a rice dished miserly
Murdered hopes, spices; yet I slide, no furry.
At time when exiled felicity
Staked in self stalk new sari
Leaning against the old plea.
And lethal tears oozing breathlessly frosting his solitary balcony.
A wolf bane singing the songs of angel
Orchestrated alchemical lyrics, in it fell
O! Withers of pain, lend me your domain, let me dwell
O! I said, are you not wolf bane, won’t there be tale
O! I’m, recharge your crockeries of trust in my smell
A wolf’s bane she was indeed
Listening to her lusty lyrics in refined
Harem’s tone, then I pigeonholed.
As the suns fell on the shrubs, as dews condescended
As the soil becomes wealthily fending
A moon in me suffers seizure and my dog died frothing
Then I was awakened to knowing anon
That there are good flowers and there are poisonous one
Copyright © Nweke Osinakachukwu | Year Posted 2020
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