Skip to main content

Strangers Again - Stefn Sylvester Anyatonwu

Image Credits: Pexel.com

POEM 143: STRANGERS AGAIN


One more time we are strangers again
like it was from the start
no one to blame
no streaks of fake smiles.

One more time we are strangers again
no knowledge of my flaws and thoughts vain
not to be taken for granted again
no broken hearts looming disdain

One more time we are strangers again
to admire from a distance and see no flaw at all
to wave and smile without faking it again
to take blames and trash the faults.

One more time we are strangers again
in our shells to recoil to moan again
when the stranger whistles by by day
and dot night sky with stars again.

One more time we are strangers again
to expect from you no special favour
nor crave you look at me with love
nor this piece of poem be penned.

One more time we are strangers again
like nothing ever happened
like time was on a loop
when I happened upon you.

One more time we are strangers again
like earth when it was void
something beautiful it was once
until man ate out again.

One more time we are strangers again
but this time, with memories.

- Stefn Sylvester Anyatonwu
#365DaysOfPoetry
#Pengician
#SSA


Enjoyed reading? Please help my blog grow by leaving a comment and sharing with friends. 
Thank you!

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

Letter To My Son

Dear Son Try to forget that nothing waits in the dark, raise your shoulder high wave off the frea and step into that lane. Won't you rather be gone in there than stay out here playing the coward? Get up now, son everyone falls. #Pengician #SSA http://bit.ly/2haEhoj
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