Skip to main content

Talking Shadow | Stefn Sylvester Anyatonwu


POEM 192: TALKING SHADOW


*raucous flute interlude*

Hand in hand we're standing,
my shadow and I.
Side by side, we're staring,
at the nightly ball of light.

My shadow sighs and whispers
'Tell me how it feels, 
to look me in the eyes,
and see another man'

My shoulder drops like rainfall,
rolling off the roof,
eyes met, shadow's and mine,
my soul removed.

God! I saw another man!

*eerie flute heightens*

My heels becomes wheels,
I run me to my home,
stands before my mirror
and blinks ten times in a row.

And lo, right in the mirror
standing hands akimbo,
was another man, my shadow,
he wears a smile I know.

'Tell me how it feels' says shadow mirror man,
'to look me in the eyes,
and instead of yourself, you see another man'

I'm scared but you're smiling,
although we look alike,
I don't know what you're doing,
but shadow, you're not mine.

'I'm the man you'll soon become,
if that path you thread along.'
Instantly it dawned on me
masks don't veil the real me.

God! I'm taking off the mask!
Don't want to live another's life
Strip me off the robe of inferiority!
Walk me now in nudity.

I don't know, this could be you
hiding behind another's script
faking ascents and achievements
Man, you got to unmask!

*soft flute fades*

#365DaysOfPoetry
#Pengician #SSA


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

Comments

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...

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...