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

Enjoyed reading?

Please leave a comment and share 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

RIP: Return If Possible (Ode to my High School crush)

She would wink at me from the corner of her eyes. She would dare to slap the tallest in my class if he dares bully me for penning his name in my list of noise makers. She would share her pen when mine is spent. She would help me take notes when sick I lay in bed. She played my advocate even when I least deserve it. Her height, though intimidating earned more of my admiration. Her fingers Her palms though long and bold compared to my petite own were my favourite to hold. She was loud and noisy not never made the list. She would speak Igbo and wink 'you dare not write my name' Her drawings, I did when others I snub. JSS 3 to SSS 1 I crushed on this pretty girl But I was too shy to ink that poem. I left without letting you know how much I care. Had no time to appreciate your kind gestures undeserved defense... You were my crush. Augusta, When I found first Facebook you were the first I searched to add... In vain I searched You were not found. I stalked the walls of our cl...

Jaachi Writes

Search This Blog