I <br /> <br />A spell on‘t, on life, will cease its run, <br />Awakened turmoil every seconds in our hearts burn, <br />Ease me from earth, let me feel the warmth of what death always earn, <br />As profuse as the jugging Poseidon in the ink of my pen: <br />From hedge to hedge, turn by turn; <br />The scorching rays making my skin tan <br />Like I was locked-up in some horrid can, <br />But really, I’ll turn from my mistakes learn, <br />O negritude son, thou, blazing sun, <br />Life is like being ditched in a disgusting Scottish glen, <br />Let not my wit be a maidenhead fern, <br />But be embellished with far-fetched ken. <br />Trophies and laurels you’ve won <br />But life-proof you can ne’er put on, <br />Perhaps, if I relieve and snicker about the infamies I’ve done <br />Our awesome God will ne’er make me attain a don. <br /> <br /> II <br /> <br />In an Arabian caliph, I’m on recess not on seat, <br />Engrossed in the melody of a sensual beat <br />Of bouncing bums and dangling tits <br />E’en as I remember the epigrams of W. B. Yeats. <br />Take me into the night, till dawn, angrily, my candles lit <br />E’en the matin bells can’t throw me off my feet <br />O’er there, the lips of dried weed <br />Will be conjubilant in the recitation of my creed. <br />Tho’ my mind may lose its nous-pit <br />But its memory store-up more than a bit <br />Arabia for me a muslin knead, <br />Like glazed stars sparkling did, <br />What marvels as they gather me to greet? <br />Like offering imposed mirth from recent feat, <br />I shall return someday without the offering of wheat <br />For where I lay my head is distant from Crete. <br /> <br />(19-02-AD2011)<br /><br />Justin Okwarachukwu<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/916-965-940-948-949-962-913-960-972-927-957-949-953-961-959-960-972-955-951-959-951/
