Write Me A Poem (VII): Shards, a poem by Stefn Sylvester Anyatonwu

WRITE ME A POEM (VII): SHARDS

contorted by wind, flawed as it is with my breed
mere armatures for ice or snow,
mere mortal munching incantations of gods unknown,
like palm trees resolve to endure for now,
the boisterous wind that caress their balls,
i bend here, there, everywhere to the musical of the wind

then, comes autumn, like leaves, I fall
uprooted from the loamy of my heritage,
and planted on the sandy surface of foreign cultures,
ripped apart, burn to ashes, the indentity of me
because, I must be as patient as a toad,
lurking in a pool of it's own tears, for that fly,
whose mama couldn't instruct how to fly,
before he was snatched from her arms,
leaving her nipples wet with milk

i am broken, and I will break all over again,
as the cold reality of yesterday's dreams
pierce hard through my skin,

like mosquito bores holes through my soul,

its sharp blade against my throat,
muting my cry for help with the puff of what's left of me

write me a poem about shards

#Pengician #SSA

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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

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