POETRY

 

 

MEMORIES OF THE CASCADING FALLS

By

Olapoju Kolapo

 

 

Memories of the cascading falls,

Images of the fading scenes

Linger with desperate fervor

Clinging to nature’s thoughts

Tugging at man’s heart

 

Imagined pictures of beyond

Seek to replace the yesteryears

And set the pattern for a new dawn

Making everyday a new tomorrow

Rendering the past mundane

 

Though, the script always gets old

And the dialogue become trite

But the play never ends

Hence, reminisce replace memories

Yet, even that flickers with time

 

And humans forge ahead,

Gallop onward

Without faltering their stride

Or pausing their pace

 

Forgetful of our past

Thoughtless of our history,

Of reminders of times unformed,

Of our bestial persona

 

We discard our heritage

Like worn denim

We adopt new ways

And favour the unknown

 

Yet, memories of the cascading falls

Images of the fading scenes

Linger with desperate fervor

Clinging to nature’s thoughts

Tugging at man’s heart

 

 

 

 

 

HANGMAN OF PURE-HEART

By

Olapoju Kolapo

 

 

Ferry me furiously further,

From the furnace of self chaste,

And river of man -hope,

The island of feigned wellness,

 

The high-horse of self-pride, hangman of pure-heart.

 

What’s the shame in weakness?

What’s the shame in weeping?

What’s the fault in falling?

The tussle to stay afloat

Keeps the mind on its toes

 

The Spirit and Soul’s penchant for penance rises.

 

What’s the crime in losing?

Where’s the guilt in crouching?

Why berate thyself, restless soul.

The patch of weed is harbinger of fertile crop

Yet the clearing has to be done.

 

Tomorrow’s harvest replaces the day’s labour.

 

Shame has to be ingested for glory to bloom;

Glory, – antithesis of gloom- light of man.

Sometimes the head will stoop

To scoop the signs from the  earth,

As done by kin unknown.

 

Why then worry about man’s worry.

 

What’s the shame in crashing on your hind?

When the load is too weighty?

What’s cowardly in fleeing from repose?

 

When peace dies within?

Where is the honor in screaming from pain?

 When you’ve aged numb?

 

What’s the shame in mouthing the truth?

Why worry when your line is straight?

Why ululate when your heart is pure?

 

Why scratch the head’s pores till it sores?

Why bother when the cows still make beef and soap yet brings lather?

Why tug at receding hair till it embraces baldness?

 

Ferry me furiously further

From the furnace of self chaste

And river of man -hope,

The island of feigned wellness,

The high-horse of self-pride, the hangman of pure-heart.

 

So, I may yet remain sane.