By
Oyin Oludipe
I attest to the tyranny of want in all places, to the tragedy it sets on the stage of Mind. It seems that man has more to scratch from earth than life and water. Only few transcend the bound, they are herald to the dearth, the lost passions and lost presences. I write in memory of the rupture. These poems are dedicated to world heroes past, forgotten.
ROOF
Raptures sped on
And I tore no tear for you.
The only eye of heed stays
In a swollen brittle house—
A staggering deity shed.
A grim potsherd pleats it
Like a faceless, marooned feast
Broken far from the tribe
I forsook it moons ago
When, one rainy night,
I stormed the eaves to find
Scars on your heart. And lone.
ROSE
Beyond mangled
Shadows of broken veils, it strove
A bolt of warmth far off the furrowed all;
Vapours, pore-breaching, of the first
Swollen beam.
The morning’s tender glance
Droops above the yolk serene, its
Writhing brush of bloodshot glare
And the heavy thrust of a broadening void
In weak recession of that glance.
O how cold it drew—stifled echoes
In twine rustles; birdlimes glaze on
Dim wings…it drew
A vacant reed, a brittle spine
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