Poetry

USAF photo

By

Ebere Terr Ebere

Hold Your Judas Kiss!

Kill me and get home harm free

With a face stoner than stones

And an eye more cutting than knives

Remain me lesser than an ant even in dungeon den

Or you spell me old Gethsemane

I will still sail like sailors

Lest I drown down drunk like drunk!

Make me even in nakedness walk

And become your lonely self my maker

Hosanna, I will still chorus

Chanting out loud your so much too much

But never you give me

Your soothing pills

Your sweet-lips gifts of maiden heavens –

Your Judas Kiss!

Take it

Hold it

Save it for diggers

Never let it come –

Your Judas Kiss!

Grasses Are But Weeds

Everywhere grows grasses to cover over

The earth surfaces as clothing makes mankind dressed

Yet, grasses are weeds, not wheats!

Grasses, in sameness wheats, beget its planter.

Yet grasses like weeds are mere illusion

It lives no lives at its judgement days but flames

Whose planter wore on horns and dark cloth

Who planted them in nights’ eyes when Adam’s sons

Might have gone sleeping in dust storms.

Very unlike the wheats who got planted

By the sacred hands of the mighty Father

Dressed in white brilliance and with hands aglow

In morning smiles at dawn

When dew drops bathed in naked earth clean

And when men could see and behold

All things bright and beautiful.

For real, I once had a mother

Who really had on siblings in resemblance of men

Who like grasses clothed and covered her for cover

And aegis, when nativities and life’s woes in blues

Went striking like wild fires to kill and bury –

Days of fury!

But when suddenly the rains came, the weeds grew

By a planter hand and so, the wheats

Together they both grew up like wheats, if not grasses

For neither one knew which were wheats or grasses

Unless in the harvest – days of separation!

At harvest,

Lo and behold, lonely stand were but weeds!

One God, one Truth

One faith, one people

And the rest – illusions!

Ebere Terr Ebere

Terr Ebere is a prolific Nigerian writer inclined to a humourous and classic style of writing. He has a pile of works he hopes to publish soon.