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Best Poems Written by Martins Deep

Below are the all-time best Martins Deep poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Martins Deep Poem

Timeless Love

I fear to tell you
Why I go to the dark cave every evening.

If you must know
It’s because she whose heart mine is knitted with is a dragon.
A wild beast.

She devours my fears.
She invades my mind and dispels
My doubts.
She dethrones my loneliness.
And pulls down the walls of hate.
She sinks the ships of depression.
I surrendered when she broke down my
gates.
She has taken the empire of my soul.
Have you ever found her kind
In your nature books?

She raids the cities
Of my painful past
And brings to me its spoils.


She is not beautiful?
Your eyes will never tell you she is.
Her beauty is not given to sight to
behold.


She exhales fire; I burn.
She beats my pen into a sword; I conquer.

She is not among the daughters
That go down the stream at eve
With earthen pots to draw water.

She is wingless
Without the poetry
My heartbeats recites.
My whispers are the wind
She glides in.
I sail on her tears
To realms the eagles have not seen.

My ink is the only wine that intoxicates her.
When she lies drunk in my arms
that's when I sneak away
And you find me here.

Do not frown at this slave I have become.
O do not!
For I am gladly enchanted.
There is no return.
Seek me not.
You will never find me.
tracing my footprints on the sands.
Footprints can only be found
on the sands of time.
The realm in her
arms is timeless.

Details | Martins Deep Poem

Amina

I do not know what I'll find
if I pull off your hijab
Perhaps a cobra lurks to bite
Whose venom will kill wit

I've bared my heart into sonnets
Sadly you will never read them- you aren't lettered
You're rather numbered counting naira notes
by the fireside where you fry awara
but I know you'll listen to my eyes
that tells the number of stars 
exploding within by this stuttering tongue and frosted sweat
thawing under the radiance of your dimples.

In the dark corner where the cry of almajiri crowns the night
I will be waiting to elope with you arm in arm via our eyes with wings
where we can stand above the earth with every altitude heavenward
veiling the steeple and the minaret.

Details | Martins Deep Poem

Vulture

Darkness awaits 
death of light.
Buries oil lamp.

Details | Martins Deep Poem

Beautiful Halves

You rock me wildly
 To the black rhythms of juju music from the radio;
 Drinking horn in hand.
 Not too drunk to tread
 The course of blue, warmth
 And moaning shadows behind batiste curtain.
 Waves crashing beneath your waist beads
 Ripples tickling the reeds of your hair.
 An eye is caught watching through
 The chink of the half-timbered wall.
 Coyly, you put off the oil lamp.

 Tonight woman,
 You smell of sweet sin.
 I could watch that smile
 Into the gates of hell.
 O the juice of your bait
 With the scent of your sweated melanin skin!

 Night is beautiful
 With your passions untamed
 And your rosy poetry
 Seeping through your life-giving breath to every sensual cell.
 Its hard to strain on the leash
 Woman.
 Its more comely to be wild.

 Its black and white except for the butterflies that fly in your eyes
 And the rainbow in mine
 That even now reflects in your face by this smile, vaguely.
 It is a wonder how you uncloak
 The man within to reveal the lips bite of this hard life.
 Your finger is rich with finds.
 I'm not so careful. Call it savoir faire?
 If you've seen enough to make you run away.
 Keep the questions coming.

 You hang me in the gallows of your stoney stare -
 your fingers sliding into pretence as you carress my face.
 Pushing me to the wall
 You feel for the second layer.
 Crossly, you pull it off
 To stand face to face with half a man whose footprints you trace
 walking out the bolted door.
 Through the venetian blind you find the other half full
 With the bethrothed of the village chief.
 Woman that never would be mine.
 You're jealous of the woman in my head?

 You feel for my heart
 Its rhythms not themed of love for you.
 Lips not a beat in sync with all I swore
 The moon I lassoed unto your laps deflates like a hot air balloon.
 Dream of us like a canvass of waterpaint washes under the downpour of
 your tears.
 Your azure turns leaden.
 A brooding silence
 Brings my tongue confessions unspoken.

 Indifferent, I taste Bacchus in your mouth
 As our tongues twined like jolly serpents
 While I sail the Snake River of your spine
 Invoking the madness that would spice the night
 And would make memory lane worth traveling on.

 You lick me only looking for love bites you never found.
 You must have thought she is a nun.
 You smell the borders of my bushy chest like a lion for foreign scents.
 Woman, your love is territorial!

 You turn down the volume
 Kissing me down to my navel with your fangs
 Strumming my sacred strings with deadly claws.
 The darkness can not hide you now
 This is the hour of revelation.
 The veil of your temple tears apart to reveal ashes that were poems in
 your censers of 'not-my-kind-of-man'
 To the one you love that never loves you back.
 His smile was all the rhymes the muse never gave me.
 My discovery was lime
 melting a fat of lies.
 You turn thin enough
 To disappear into thin air.

 Music ends, kicked over
 By your feet.
 Too flared up to put on your roseate gown
 You walk out the
 Door from my life left always ajar
 Into the dark wearing your sackcloth.
 It occurred to me arithmetic was the answer.
 Halves makes one!

 Woman, it is not good
 you're are leaving me stranded.
 Never knew the night was this cold.

 Cock crows at dawn with you weeping at my doorstep.
 Woman did not sleep
 She found mathematics.

 Music pours from radio.
 Halves meet.
 Curtain.

Details | Martins Deep Poem

Rain

Sand drinks nectar
from the weeping
night sky.

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Eyesers Flames

Eyeball to eyeball
two flints rub at twilight.
Inferno is lit in hearts.

Details | Martins Deep Poem

Answered Prayer Beside the Corpse

Rooster crows
after long night shower.
Farmer is never to wake.

Details | Martins Deep Poem

Withering Flower

Like Lucifer your leaves fall.
 Your petals fade.
 Your roots fail
 to ponder
 The path of the deep.
 That season is upon you
 That devours the children of the earth.

 There is a song
 You hear when you paddle
 The canoe alone at night
 O traveller on the Nile!
 It’s a sad song of a withering flower
 You will hear waves mourn.
 Even the nightingale
 Joins in the woeful song.

 Night has come upon beauty
 And all that can be gathered
 Of her story
 Are dried leaves.
 Glory vanishing like silhouettes.

 Dropping dried leaves
 Dancing the dance of falling stars
 On a cold night.

 The termites devour every trace
 Of the flower's glory.
 Like alchemists sucking
 Elixir from its fibres.

 The sky cries over her
 With dewdrops on the spot she once stood.

 Nothing is remembered
 But the poet's verse
 That preserved her beauty.
 She is dead on the soil
 But lives on
 On a ridge
 Of the poet's dog-eared book.

Details | Martins Deep Poem

In Memory

Sonnet on sheet damp with tears.
Set ablaze in memory of mother.
Wind claims ashes.

Details | Martins Deep Poem

I Still Miss You

When I miss you
I bake the ashes of burnt photos
of you when I've given up lies
I chew memories of you like bittersweet cuds,
mix it up with my tears
to paint the tragedies of a war
that never made it into any history book than our diaries
How our  children mourns from the future -
Seeds beautiful to enchant angels  away from their first estate!

When I miss you I laden fireflies
with wishes and sonnets from my sighs
and lyric themed with the man you left smashed mercilessly against the door
Do they ever get to you 
swinging between stars?
Could your tears be this dew on my roof because they touched your heart?

When I miss you, I price the smallest things that  reminds me of you as a goldmine
Misery comes as a stern auditor to account for every tear I stole from your eyes 
Evil cackles from 'this-could-have-been-us' leaves me to the hangman within who would not be appeased with diamond blames and golden excuses
  
When I miss you
I  cry, coiled sadly under my blanket
I  gnash my teeth
staring at the ruins that fitted well in the mould of paradise
I sit up at midnight to write to hope now too blind to regard  letters

I still walk down spots 
I saw magic graze in your eyes
and eat up the leftover hays your unicorn left in between the pages of your thriller
holding it proudly  to my chest like sacred  scriptures

I wish I was not too holy
to have pushed your filth away
when I knew I had so much acidic tears to wash you clean from guilt

I stagger into your arms in my head
when I'm drunk with my favourite beer pouring from  my eyes  
While I'm stabbed by every note of our favourite song on repeat,
playing softly on the radio.