i rose from torn rags

i rose from torn rags

give me your names and I will write someday
what my heart knows exists but cannot feel
with words hopeless, scattered letters on a canvas
like poor substitutes for what they're in vain,
words. just words. vain words. actions slain.

let me hear the sound of your deeds
grow louder than empty barrels that wasn't mine to believe
so i laid still like a rag ready to be used
the same old rag that wipes your feet
for you to be able to walk again, happily perhaps,
away from me, like a polished shoe from the shoeshine

i wished you could see me through
the dirge that accompany your lies
i wished you could see through
the dirt under which i lie
so i let you pick me up, every sunday morn
to wipe clean your dirty feet
from many wanton wanderings
i took them in, the pebbles and the dust,
the ugly odour of sweat and dust
never let them stick to your shoe, because it's you

because it's your feet diseased with cow dung
rooting in the dirt of puddles sole deep
rotting fodder at the soul of your feet
unpicked, i lay still until another morning
knobbly and black from constant wipes,
lying under a bridge of your empty words
hoping the waters of my tears would wash me away
before you return home again

i can only hide these rag things through
to make you stay and let me be
to wipe your feet again and live happily
but i realized rags can be washed
so much the brown of me shall be refined black
and i too, though in heart decay
can find salvation from unrequited love,

so i wrote me a poem about us
a reminder to fallen flowers that wilt
at the touch of summer sun,

that i rose from torn rags

#Pengician #SSA

Enjoyed reading?

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

Comments

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...

Poemify | Haiku Writing

A haiku ( pronounced high-koo ) is short three-line poem that uses sensory language to capture a feeling or image. Haiku poetry was originally developed by Japanese poets. They are often inspired by nature, a moment of beauty, or poignant experience. Before I dive deep, I'd love to say this: I believe some of us here know what haiku is and what 'rules' there be that guide haiku writing. That's beautiful. We are here to learn, unlearn and relearn. So, I'd rather you keep your knowledge aside and learn something new today. Alright? Okay, let's walk over Jericho. Haiku is a Japanese verse in three lines. Line one has 5 syllables, line 2 has 7 syllables and line three has 5 syllables. Haiku is a mood poem and it doesn't use any metaphors or similes. Usually when haiku is taught, poets are only given the restriction of the number of lines and syllables. However, for good haiku poetry, more explanation needs to be given. This lecture is for poets who are willing...

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