Details |
Efe Chesterfield Poem
Sambissar
Our souls dampen
with torture
And hopes dash in a
hurry
Like northern
watermelons
Crushed by a hundred
thousand cattle.
Our hearts beat in
fear louder than a
drum,
Louder than the
fierce noise of an
enraged mob -
Our flower has been
plucked before
blossom
With our
maiden-blood running
deep
Streaming deep into
the merciless earth
Our paths are
slippery with the
oil of confusion
The heart of our
mothers are sore
Like backs of the
herds man's flock
Beaten severally by
the narcissistic rod
We, who have been
cuddled in the cold
Now face the fierce
wrath of these
beasts;
We who still suckle
on our mothers'
breasts
Have been
sequester'd and
flung far in the
forests
The echo has
subsided far beyond
the continents
The revolt has
mingled with the
wind and vanished
The unfought battle
has been won, none
vanquished!
We have been
abandoned to our
fate!
The tabloids have
forsaken our plea
The maddened
competition stole
the day
With men all over
glued to the noisy
boxes
And children
everywhere
"hooraying" away
But our mothers
truly can never
forget us
The breast we have
suckled cry for our
return.
We bleed, we cry, we
mourn, we appeal,
Please, please,
Bring Back Our
Girls!
E. R. Chesterfield
Copyright © Efe Chesterfield | Year Posted 2014
|
Details |
Efe Chesterfield Poem
Come, Aanu, fly away with me,
And let us nestle in our own tree.
Through vales and fountains and hills
And savour the sweetest wintry chills.
Let us probe the lilies in the fields,
And the earth from which every myrtle yields;
And we will feed on the finest of worms
While the coy sun our colourful din warms.
Then we will challenge the moon to an am'rous fight,
And inquire whose is the brightest sight.
We will glide through the frosty wind,
And storms in which some peace to Find.
And we will glide through the misty clouds,
Seeing fond lovers kissing in their crowds,
Or singing lullaby by the glistening streams,
Plotting mischievous dreams.
And I would spin you nests of finest twigs,
Upon mahoganies, Eucalyptuses and figs;
Hovering through thickest fogs and dew
Bearing blanch roses in my beak for you.
We would leap from cliffs with no doubts or fear
And build an empire in the stormy air.
I should watch you like an owl at night,
Before we make our final flight.
Come, fly away with me my LOVE
And we will all vagaries REMOVE
Till we conquer most prominent HEIGHTS
Beyond mountains, hills and Heaven's LIGHTS!
-E R Chesterfield.
Copyright © Efe Chesterfield | Year Posted 2016
|
Details |
Efe Chesterfield Poem
I cannot subject your immortality to my art
For something deathless cannot by death survive,
Nor can I anchor your beauty upon the sun
Which although shines bright, is dead at night;
Summer mornings oft’ become wintry evenings
And everything that breathes sometime must die;
Music does fade, and poetry ceases to intrigue;
Tales do not amuse, and paintings are oft’ stolen;
Sculptures once made are tried by the wicked sun
And spring’d gardens become summer’d deserts.
So, you see, not the burning sun, nor the changing weather
Nor anything as ambitious as my childish craft
Can I compare your strange beauty to,
Since that which you are eternized by, resides in you!
— Efe Chesterfield
Copyright © Efe Chesterfield | Year Posted 2022
|