Skip to main content

Happy Birthday...Anyway


'Happy birthday...anyway''may the memories fade away''I have no more need for hay'Happy birthday...anyway'
Fingers trembling on guitar chords
Yes, I compose songs
Through tad toils
my feet has kissed many soils
From which gained a thousand spoils
Still my heart boils

On this endless journey of mine
Gold I found, not silver
All rot pearls
I couldn't love
But no! I went on
You moved on!

Just like rainfall in the desert
Just like sunshine in the groove
Just like food in famine
Just like Hadassah to the Jews
I found you
Out of the purple
I saw blues

Crystal clear eyes that burst my boils
Giving me a relief not meant for boys
My feet has kissed many soils
In search for love...
Still my heart boils.

Fine fingered fellow, you were
your finger on the guitar chords
...like mine
you passed me the stethoscope
whilst I rap to your heartbeat
drinking in your smile
like new palmwine...
And the words that from your lips dripped
became my favourite song - 
You... were my favourite song.

'Irreplaceable you are'
You said.
But I'm long flung off your heart
like an abomination...
I was supposed to be your religion
but you swapped gods
I died many times
on the altar of love and sacrifice
but you kicked my 'buts'
and threw tantrums
because I couldn't come...
deep...
I was supposed to be your sleeping and waking 

thoughts...
Or so I thought
History!
that's what you made of me.

Countless times
In one night
Your honey coated lips sweetened my toils
Made the search in desert land worth the toil.
You had me bubbling 
like an Arabian hot spring.
And for the first time in a long while
You became my definition of love.
Love
Love...it hurts...haha
If there be friends
My friendliest you are...
Were?
If there were besties
My best of besties you are...
Were?

I would've stood on the hilltop
And coo like a songbird
That all creation may hear
How I went on a crucial sojourn
In search for something
How I found something
And returned full of nothing.
Because the mode of your operation
couldn't suit my average passion

Pray all mankind plea
That you come bounce back...bitch
But would divinity heed?
Maybe, cuss...that's a sin

From the sky
I sighted a lush land
'Dive I shall'
Told me I
Prayed my landing be soft
That our project succeed
That the galaxies permit
That the design of this
with glistering stars come real
That this dream be reality...
Alas! 
Diamonds don't glow
They reflect.
I thought I had gold,
or was it dirt?

I thought constellations were on our side
Starless night!
I thought the dreams of two
had no option but come through...
Alas
The inscription above the sky
     wasn't mine
       to relish or admire.
I took the jewel of another
I must be jailed so another
might take my place
I think I should hide my face.
Sighs!
But you are loved still
My heart might be made of steel
Yet you splashed the rare care on me
so graciously like it was mine to have.
and melt I did
Heck! The warning signs...
I should've heed!
Sighs!
But were are just tools in the hands of the maker
His perfect purpose prime presides 
over messed up mortal minds.
So while this gulf enlarges
and the bridge sinks
I shall wave a flag still
as the trump of a birth not still
reverberates across this sea

'Happy birthday...anyway'
'may the memories fade away'
'I have no more need for hay'
'Happy birthday...anyway'

It's your birthday
I don't want to hate
so...I'll get off my bed
and as a Song Bird
Sing...
'Happy birthday...anyway''may the memories fade away''I have no more need for hay'Happy birthday...anyway'

#Pengician
#SSA
Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Fiction | The Tripod Effect

THE TRIPOD EFFECT The Smiths were unable to conceive children and decided to use a surrogate father to start their family. On the day the surrogate father was to arrive, Mr. Smith kissed his wife and said, "I'm off. The man should be here soon" Half an hour later, just by chance a door- to-door baby photographer rang the doorbell, hoping to make a sale.  "Good morning, madam. I've come to...." "Oh, no need to explain. I've been expecting you," Mrs. Smith cut in. "Really?" the photographer asked. "Well, good. I've made a speciality of babies"  "That's what my husband and I had hoped. Please come in and have a seat"  After a moment, she asked, blushing, "Well, where do we start?"  "Leave everything to me. I usually try two in the bathtub, one on the couch and perhaps a couple on the bed. Sometimes the living room floor is fun too; you can really spread out!" "Bathtub, living room floo...
Post a Comment
Read more

The Curve And Colors Of Hate | Uwen Precious Ogban

The Curve And Colors Of Hate When the evening news had broken Father spoke with a tone of pain and anger “Nigeria is a whore,” And my mother agreed Painting sensual scenes giving you pleasure of what looks like a garden that hides a landmine. And how trying to walk through it becomes slippery A journey asking for crimson libations, full of fractures and ‘Had I knowns’ while you looked over the fence for greener  pastures Her sighs spoke of a menu full of thrills but you are served double horrors She, Nigeria, abhors you later on when it relinquishes you of value, Truly, she is an old ‘Whore’ My Father picked it from there, “Nigeria gets hard as rock” Wants of men despised Sullen moods recorded in poems, speeches, and events, snubbed For as long as it makes sultry suplex’s on a comfortable ring – Nigeria is satisfied “Son, Nigeria is you, your mum and I” Guilty to a fault Pained by happenings that come with fire and brimstone Let loose from bellies that should hold  patriotis...
Post a Comment
Read more

Featured Poem: Slavery In Africa - by Uwen Precious Ogban

SLAVERY IN AFRICA We believe they rowed their boats of tumults into our region; carrying with them bags of conundrums, while we drummed our drums and jollied to their, intonation. The way they dressed, the way they addressed us Made us mime to the harmony and yearns in their speeches of a dawn to civility and hale: that was a start of the course of slavery in Africa. We still thought they were our brothers, because our chiefs rolled floridly with their proposals While we were mockingly disposed of In the field, or given to bespoken tailors as apprehends; as helps; in servitude; ‘posed to carry out orders as the come in flicks. We became babies in our own motherland we became cartage of their foreign plans. We cleared our huts so that they could find comfy and build on our strengths draining our tears as they wryly whipped us on our backs. Their wisdom their prowess They used to molest And we gazed in cluelessness Cause we still didn’t see it as slavery then – but as pain, so enjoyable....
Post a Comment
Read more