Poetry

December 24, 2015 Poetry , POETRY / FICTION

By

Abienekpen Osaletin Augustine

 

 

Teach Me

 

 

Teach me the best way of the world

For I may not be misled

By miraged quasar

Of oleaginous words.

 

Teach me with undisputed experience

To love officious enemies

Amist their provocative ululations.

 

Teach me how to defeat

The Battalion of pride

which wage war in me

And how to deafen my ears against

The quotidian blandishments for evil

 

Teach me with multiplicity of elevating quintessences

To wear beautiful smile, Even in the mist of deadly fierce hurricane.

 

Teach me the simplest way

To walk through the horrible thorny forest of breathing corpses, With endurance and persistent muscle.

 

Teach me the scansion

Of the numerous lyrical cacophonies of the world That I may rhyme with them And not fall out of tune.

 

Teach me how to embark on

This unpleasant fearful odyssey

Through the gargantuan oesophagus

Of death and abundance dearth

 

Hold me and teach me

(I the Famished child for knowledge)

how to wade my way

Through the Fallopian tube of life and death.

 

Hold me by the hand

And decipher the misery

of this obstreperous spherical orb.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

My Shameless Father

 

 

How will I tell this story

To the whole world? that my father

The Man whose blood formed me,

The Man whose blood flows in me

Is the one who burst my sacred door.

 

How will it sound to the ears?

That the Man who beckoned

My breath to earth

Plucked the Apple in the middle

Of my Garden

And crunched it without leaving any crumb, He ate it and cleaned his mouth As if nothing has happened.

 

It started one day when I was all alone at home He crept in like a thief in the night And accused Me of desecrating my holy temple, Staining my white cloth and allowing people to pluck my Apple.

I denied and he forced his way

Into the Garden.

After the deed, he said with proud he checked to know whether I was still intact.

 

Who will hear me out without saying awa?

When I say that my Father

Keeps coming to my Garden

Any time He feels like without shame

Even he glories in, revels in the act.

 

Does he make it out what he is doing?

Because he has planted in me an ocean of hatred for him Which has spread like oil on a white cloth To every man and boy out there in the street And nothing can efface it from my heart.

 

 

Note: Awa is an esan word which means abomination.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Abienekpen Osaletin Augustine

Abienekpen Augustine is an African writer who has undying Love for poetry and short stories. His works have appeared in allpoetry, Gnosis Magazine, Uromi Diocese Magazine, CWAN Literary Magazine, Anthology and elsewhere.

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