Skip to main content

Fishes In The River | Stefn Sylvester Anyatonwu


POEM 325: FISHES IN THE RIVER

"there are many fishes in the river", grandpa hummed.

just yesterday, ese left my outstretched arms,
hanging in the air, like a rag hanging out to dry

the river was as long as Nile, grandpa loved fishing,
he grabbed a hook knotted the line,
dropped the sinker, bait strapped to the hook,
grandpa hummed, "there are many fishes in the river..."

I told him, the tragic tale, of how ese made her hair into a ponytail,
I told him the sun was going down, when ese, took my love to town

grandpa hummed
"there are many fishes in the river,
son, go fish on the other side"

his countenance, emotionless, a wry smile 
played hide and seek, on the corner of his lips

but who wants date a fish?
ese was gold, a gem, my treasure chest of everything bright and beautiful

sun sets on her eyes and rises on her lips
stars twinkle in her voices and music is native to her kiss,

I do not understand why mortal me would dine with a fish
when ese, the goddess of enthral bliss
was my only candle wish

"I fished here"
Grandpa's husky croaky paused my reverie:
"on this side of the Nile fishes weighed in gold,
scales more beautiful than corals in blue seas, we were told.
Hook, line, sinker, I dropped deeper, 
I fished, too. 
I got gold, a gem too, a treasure chest that stinks too"

Grandpa signed:
"she slipped before my eyes, like catfish from the knife...
undeterred, son, I fished, again.
Your selfish self would with me agree, 
that all that mattered was what you feel.
Son, this river is home of shrimp and whale,
crab and ell, seal and mackerel,
don't let the flying dolphin distract you
from sinking deep your bait-laden hook.
ese is come, ese is gone, 'there are many fishes in the river', son"


I am not a fisherman, oh grandpa of mine;
fishes in the river, who wants to marry one?

let me be a lion, and run jungles for her,
ese might be long gone,
but the tale's still in scene one.

mallet and dagger, two-edged cutlass.
variety of skulls still litter the dusty floor.

[this poem is still under construction]

#365DaysOfPoetry
#Pengician #SSA

Enjoyed reading? 
Please leave a comment and share with friends. Thank you!

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

shy, a poem

bashful, timid, quiet.  shy If anyone you know has used these terms to describe you, you're probably a bit shy. Everyone feels that way once in a while. Shyness and social anxiety are common, no matter how old you are. There is one myth about social anxiety and social anxiety disorder that I would like to dispel. The myth says that social anxiety is just exaggerated shyness. This myth encourages the idea that anxious people are merely weak-willed pushovers. It is partially because of this myth, I think, that well-intentioned people offer the relevant but insensitive and patronizing advice like, “Don’t worry about it!” , “Just do it” and “Face your fears.”  Thinking on all these, I wrote this poem: shy when a shy person speaks, it's like music from guitar strings. when a shy person smiles, it’s like the sun coming out when a shy person steps out it's like the uncommon visit of gods when a shy person reclines it feels like moon eloped from night when a shy person is 'i

Dustbin And Drafts - Stefn Sylvester Anyatonwu

POEM 142: DUSTBIN AND DRAFTS He was the night sky, She was a star, Always together, Never one. He wrote what he felt for her of how her twinkles light up his dark. But they never get to her. One more note was added in his drafts. Fragrant pens and beautiful poems Pink papers and artistic handwriting. She wrote about the beauty in his black of how they make her twinkles shine. but they never got to him. Only the dustbin knows how much she loves him - Stefn Sylvester Anyatonwu #365DaysOfPoetry #Pengician #SSA Enjoyed reading? Please help my blog grow by leaving a comment and sharing with friends.  Thank you!

For Leah Shabiru - Stefn Sylvester Anyatonwu

POEM 136: FOR LEAH SHABIRU I can't find the words right To describe Leah's plight. I hope this little piece of mine Awakens our voiceless unconcern. Does she feel giddy? Does she still cry? Does she look out the window and heave a sigh? How long shall this gravity Hold her down to these rascals? I know she kicks but in vain I know she whispers prayers to her God Or maybe she now doubts his existence. Does she wish her breathe be gone? But she's just a teenager Who dreamt of leaving her deadbeat town One day she went to chase dreams The next she was never found Sunrise and sunset have come and gone and Leah is still in the devil's lair. You and I, we eat, we sleep She's not our own, we care not a bit Until same fate cross our path Trample our wives And rip our hearts Only then shall we realize in Leah died our very soul. - Stefn Sylvester Anyatonwu #365DaysOfPoetry #Pengician #SSA Enjoyed reading? Please help my blog grow by leaving a comment and sharing with friends