By
Ayoola Goodness Olanrewaju
crumbs of yesterdays
i
we cupped the rays of the sun in our hands for the blessings of sunshine for dreamt dreams they slipped through the lines of our fingers scorching our palms in fainted embers we cried…we groaned…we moaned…
the chlorophyllous branches booed
chorused jeers on the strings of a mocking wind…
that our dreams are stale and now the sun is angry…
who shall entreat the sun for us…
little tendrils?
ii
we sickled the twinkling fruits of the night sky to brooch our clothes of our dreamt dreams for we doubted not the fallacy that stars do fall…
but these twinkling fruits melted into shooting stars and rendered our eyes victims of blindness…
time mocked our death of blindness
in the songs of our crawled destiny in the race of time…
that our dreams are stale and now stars do not fall who shall entreat the stars for us…
shabby clothes of dreams?
iii
tonight we took cups of the milky moon
to nurture the breeds of our dying dreamt dreams for we thought the moon a kind mother to soothe our scenes of the angry sun and the proud bloom of stellar fruits but the milk was sour and did burn the scrolls of our imaginations…
the owl laughed in wan hoots
and the trees swayed in excitement at our sulk of sorrow
that our dreams are stale and now the milky moon is sour…
who shall entreat the moon for us…
for our cots of dreams?
iv
don’t they say we are dreams of tomorrow?
but when is tomorrow while forlorn dreams die daily?
when ancient yesterdays still steal the dawn of tomorrows and constantly place us in these light lies full of darkness?
that we are dreams for their dreams…consciences seared with deception
it is true that a child that knows how to wash his hands well will not have enough to eat with the elders…
this paradox shall speed these hands…a hasty well wash…
and our green tomorrows shall cease to munch crumbs of yesterdays!
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