I Found Solace In My Storm | Stefn Sylvester Anyatonwu

POEM 265: I FOUND SOLACE IN MY STORM

I'm at that age of wishes evolving,
when a lasting sigh takes the form of whispers,
sowed in the patched sod of life throes,
allowed, for a long time, to farrow:
There's a storm in my head,
I seek solace in it.

I'm at that stage of wishes shape shifting,
to take the form of that bane,
that same bane that ruin and make a name.
Dare I say I am a martyr who'll never die?
There's a storm in my head,
I seek solace in it.

I'm at that page of wishes,
where God is neither love nor faith
but along span of pain, and loss...and gain?
What the next page holds, I dread to know:
There's a storm in my head,
I seek solace in it.

At this age staged on a page of many tales,
where I stand nonchalant on solid mud,
staring at a tomb of me erected 7 miles away,
from perfection, the sweetest fruit, of my induction:
There's a storm in my head,
I seek solace in it.

I am not a zephyr of rhapsodies,
nay! lasting love is graffiti of illusions,
I could bile a pot of sweetness
with the venom of passion, ruthless:
There's a storm in my head,
I seek solace in it.

of gut, gusto, gait, godspeed
still better is today, than the despair of wasted years.
So, with a knowing smile albeit warm,
I shall endure, on broken wings, this flight to better days:
There's a storm in my head,
I found solace in my storm.

Glossary:Zephyr - (Literary), a soft gentle breeze.
Gusto - enjoyment and enthusiasm in doing something.
Gait - a person's manner of walking.
Godspeed - an expression of good wishes to a person starting a journey.

#365DaysOfPoetry

#Pengician #SSA

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

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...

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...

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....

Jaachi Writes

Search This Blog