Hell Is A Place Above Ground | Stefn Sylvester Anyatonwu

POEM 206: HELL IS A PLACE ABOVE GROUND

can you remember when you had that gentle, modest,
natural innocence
before the erosion of isms
stripped it away?

can you remember when you hit the street
clad in nudity and laughter
dancing in the rain and chasing butterflies
before the heat of religion melted it away?

can you remember when the dim light of everything
that illuminated your dreams
rose like sea levels in the hearts of friends
under the aesthetic moon
before the storm washed it away?

can you remember when you stare at the rising sun
in sheer awe and amusement
as it crawl from the horizon
into the sky
before the wind of tribalism blew it away?

now we don't know where we are,
no green fields, no grin real,
the blazing sun shine no longer
on everything we do,
all over the cardinal, cold tundra of hatred from people
knock off our eyelids
and leave our eyes to the dust of class, race, tribe, religion,
gender equality, sexual orientation

like magma underground
we burn down our eden on ground
and yearn for Paradise above ground,
but hell is a place above ground
you, I, all of us, devils in para-dice

playing games with our lives

#365DaysOfPoetry
#Pengician
#SSA

Comments

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...

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

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...

Jaachi Writes

Search This Blog