Skip to main content

Confusion | Stefn Sylvester Anyatonwu


POEM 218: CONFUSION
i.
everywhere in wazobia people are fighting for freedom

wresting p o w e r
from the rulers of the kingdom

blaming others for their own faults

north say it's the south
south say it's the north

how can we win this fight
by throwing tantrums at everything trivia?

ii.
everywhere in this clime people are fighting for wisdom
no one knows what is right
no one knows what is wrong

you uphold the wrong kind of right
I uphold the right kind of wrong

how can we win this fight against sour laws
by trading blames for peanuts?

iii.
in every heart are raging wars against boring norms
and silly laws

right says it's wrong
left never feels right

parents say it's us
religion says it's lust
we say it's everyone

how can we erase these lies
we've come so far so fast
to embrace?

when shall we take chill pills
and blame no one when our interests collide
and beliefs run into a wall?

iv.
everywhere is a dark space of chaos
everyone is a masterpiece of confusion

at the end, everything ends here,
incomplete, like this p o e m

#365DaysOfPoetry
#Pengician
#SSA

Click Here to get a FREE copy of the #PunPoetryAnthology


Enjoyed reading? Commenting is now easy. 
I introduced Facebook Comment feature. 
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...