Skip to main content

Write Me A Poem (X): ...but you never wrote me one


...but you never wrote me one

ediye mmi,
sometimes, going home isn’t always
returning to a place where a roof shields your head
from the lonesomeness that lurk in the dark;
it is returning to yourself,
the one who never leaves when they're all gone

sometimes, silence makes lonesomeness unbearable
it echoes back cremated memories, in eerie syllables,
as you crave, again, for the warmth of yesterday,
and wish you hadn't blown out the flame

sometimes, like Precious would say,
"your poetry is all I need to arouse the wax in my ears,
and make 'em tingle as with reaction from a tickle"
until the sweet symphony of your voice,
from my old stereo, sounds once more

but you never wrote me one,
write me a poem, would you?

#Pengician 
#SSA


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

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

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...

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...

Floating - Stefn Sylvester Anyatonwu

POEM 146: FLOATING Sometimes I feel like a piece of lead dropped in the ocean Sinking to rise no more Other times I feel like the Titanic riding on ocean waves  but a hole of flaws  bored by their quest for faults leaves me sinking to rise no more. But tonight, I feel like I'm just f      l             o a       t               i   n                    ­     g in a stream of your voice surrounded about by smiling stars touching my skin and caressing my heart. Though I fear sinking again like before I know you're waiting arms open in the ocean bed to engulf me in mindless kisses until my feet forget to flee until I make in you my home for nowhere, there is, to go when I'm floating in your love. (Dedicated to Endie) #365DaysOfPoetry #Pengician #SSA