A Portrait Of Whatever This Means To You | Stefn Sylvester Anyatonwu

POEM 301: A PORTRAIT OF WHATEVER THIS MEANS TO YOU

memories of those days, when
all that matters was pleasing you, when
all desires were hinged on you, then
a jar of jam somewhat expired, smell
no more than the deceit that masked your smiles.

memories of those nights, that
our voices go back and forth, hearts
in sync with every spoken word, and
lips in sync with every unuttered thoughts, sad
how not one affection passed via airwaves,
was in sync with promises made.

memories of those promises made,
how I took pride of place
to hold in clenched fists a dead assurance,
a cosmic clump of smells,
twin months of faux tales,
of tastes, firsts, goosebumps, hangovers, and ends.
I never understood what I was holding on to,
was the grey end of a red hue.

I'm balancing my remains on a wire
hoping ends will meet to begin
yet another circle of intimate fire.
I'm down in the shelters of unlit nook
scared to be killed by yet another dart,
shot from a your kind,
aimed at my kind.

so I cuddle through the cold that bite at my skin
and lit cheap firelogs, not because darkness scare me,
rather to watch my shadow dance on the wall
while I drift into the arms of our oblivion.

It might take much for me to recuperate
and you a second swift to sink another bait...
pray I you stagger into the wrong lake,
where the wind shall fan you upskirt,
so all fishes, unaware, lying in wait,
shall safely swim away deep underwater
wherein drowned the memories of promises of happy-ever-after.

This is not a poem.
#365DaysOfPoetry
#Pengician #SSA

Enjoyed reading? Please leave 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...

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

Celebrating the “father of modern African literature”: Chinua Achebe

Today I join Google to celebrate Chinua Achebe's 87th birthday. Chinua is the father of modern African literature who with literature has touched many lives. Chinua Achebe was one of the greatest African writers of his generation. On what would have been his 87th birthday if he was alive, Google is paying its respects to Chinua Achebe on its homepage. Go to Google.com to view the doddle. Unarguably, Achebe’s influence on African literature is inestimable. He’s widely known to be the “father of modern African literature” with novels which projected Nigerian and African culture globally at a time when much of the continent was freshly free from the chains of colonialism. Chinua Achebe passed away March 2013 in the United States of America at the age of 82. The literary icon's journey to literary greatness started with ' Things Fall Apart ', which was his first book. It was released nearly 60 years ago in 1958 and regarded as one of the most widely read books in Africa. ...

Jaachi Writes

Search This Blog