My life’s on the verge of ruin.Just like it was when I wrote this poem,2 years ago.I can’t breathe;I can’t even hope anymore!
Yesterday, I was soaring with eagles:
My mind a snow white piece of paper;
watching worship the others their egos,
and ignoring Hope, the leper.
Yesterday, I was a flower, a rose:
were the reddest red my petals;
shaking merrily my stalk and sepals
to the music of the wind that blows.
Today, am at the mercy of Hope;
clinging onto Fate’s rope….
Dealing with one’s Muse,especially when they’ve just returned from a vacation is as easy as mentally calculating the square root of a nine digit number,in say,under a minute.
This is the only poem I’ve written on dreams and the style is experimental.
Dreams are real!
Delight of the night;
Delusion in the dark:
Daisy in the Dreamland dale.
Raise my hopes an inch!
Ramble of the brain,
Regress my life;
Relax my tired soul.
End my despair!
Escapade in my sleep,
Elucidate my destiny;
Engulf my worst fears.
Antsy I’m for you!
Apprise me of tomorrow.
Accomplished you are;
Authenticate yourself.
Meanderings of the brain;
Mender among menders;
Mystery yet unsolved:
Muddled I remain.
My Muse is back but with exams around every possible corner,I hardly get time to reflect and cajole her into giving me the latest golden ball of inspiration.I’ve been fascinated by sonnets for a long time and the more I read,the more I was convinced to try my hand at writing up a few of my own,albeit ‘Africanizing’ the art.Presenting the eighth of my paltry collection of 10.
I stand on an invisible edge:
There you go again,your gait feline,
your beauty beyond me to define
without owing a lexicographer wage.
I’m a lonely goldfinch in a cage:
Cold,freezing:The air inside alpine;
my old pulse steadily on decline;
and my bitter-sweet ache has now come of age.
Am a profusely bleeding heart:
Dripping only unknown love
and wishes granted in vain.
I await Cupid and his art;
and his darts their purpose to serve.
Will you rid me of this pain?
For this is no abomination,
neither is it absurd,
to have such distraction
greater than the world ever had.
I lie in my bed, eaten up by chagrin,
enunciation of my love for you beyond me.
Am back to being green,
worse than I could ever be.
You, who taught me to preen,
are but a thought I can’t touch but see.
Since my Muse is back,I thought I’d post something new today.I wrote this after the Buddo Junior inferno.I also wrote an elegy for our hero,Namaganda, which I’ll post hopefully, next week I think.I was supposed to present this poem at one of the gigs Princess invited me for…
Night engulfs the sun
of a young rose garden.
Withered rose,lost sun;
the loss a new burden.
Forgotten seams,
for broken dreams…
Pieces of broken hearts
scattered in his wake.
Whenever Fate hurts,
it is Time’s mistake!
He’s seen fear;
He’s been here.
Back in time again.Enough of the lovey-dovey stuff.Let’s get into something more serious,mature and reflective.This is supposed to be part of my second mini-anthology Budding Rose.We’re still stuck in my teenage poetry.
What dwells in the heart,
Rolls off the tongue.
What rolls off the tongue,
Slithers across the lips.
What wonders through the eyes,
Dwells in the mind.
What dwells in the mind,
Makes you who you are.
What passes through the ears,
Lodges in the brain.
What lodges in the brain,
Comes off your tongue.
What touches your skin,
Lingers in the heart.
What lingers in the heart,
Propels you to do what you do.
What enters your nose,
Is etched on your memory.
What is etched on your memory,
Shows itself in you.
What enters your inside,
Lives there.
What lives there,
Comes out often
And reflects what you are like inside.
My Muse is on vacation,I’ve ‘zibs’ to think about and I don’t like posting new poems(those written that week or year) cuz,in a weird way,it reduces my creativity.So I’m into old poems now.I wrote this when I was 17.The style is free verse meaning that my meter(the number of syllables per line) is irregular.In most free verse poems,there’s also no rhyme scheme;however,I usually keep the rhyme scheme in my free verse poems to make them more ‘poem-like’.
If only I knew
that love brought feelings new
that obliterated more than
reason can dare to fathom,
my heart wouldn’t be a whirling fan;
nor my mind a full-empty can.
If only I knew how to conform
to the ironies of love, or give due
to delusive a norm
of loving what’s already taken,I’d form
sense out of the fact that in your heart’s life span,
it will, in search of love ache anew!
I wrote this poem when I was 16.It’s one of my older stuff.I just want to find out what comments it attracts so I can revise it accordingly.
Did it hurt much,
when you left Heaven?
Did God mount a search,
for one missing of the seven?
Where,Nightingale, did you perch,
that made you so even?
Your dad must be a terrorist,
because you are the bomb.
No wonder I can not resist,
staring at you, fair lamb.
Are you by any chance sorry,
that you r driving me crazy?
The laws of nature can’t be reversed,
nor the unforgiving sin of falling in love rehearsed;
but how I wish for a way
I could,the unrelenting tunes of love downplay,
without the complete demise
of the sweet silent sound of heart beats;
or fastidiously revise
the rules of conduct of a heart’s flipping feats!
Yet till that grants FATE,
embrace I shall, every rose that I get.
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