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By savingwordtracts

By savingwordtracts

Graceful Bow

 

Flower sprouts at dawn,

flourishes at the cusp of noon;

      drops at the foot of dusk.

      

A trillion eyes watch at night,

wink as beauty now prostrate,

      shimmers in an afterglow.

 

Encomium echoes in the heart

as flame ceases to flare,

      and kindling fails to crack.

 

The gnawing silence stirs the soul

to soar while tears tarry;

      and the mind droops, mulling:

 

      Who next

 

Silent eye flies to space,

to a one-liner, lean as death:

      A time to bow.

 

Tear drops like dew

not for a distant faint toll

      but for a bang in my heart.

 

      

 

© 2017 Celestine Ikwuamaesi

By savingwordtracts

A Tiger & A Dear

A tiger and a dear,

slogging out: heaven and hell,

which was real & where. They won’t

let; eyes were red, voices taut.

 

Show the way to heaven, one yelled.

I will; I will, when time’s ripe.

A dark man barged in with a dagger

and a gun, eyes redder than theirs.

 

The room dropped dead as night,

a bell about to toll. Both fled,

one made for the door; the other,

for a window yawning into the dark.

 

Down a dark lonely path, they met,

both panting, eyes bulging.

Are we safe, I saw a crouching tiger?

I saw a dear, lurking at a corner.

 

 

© 2017 Celestine Ikwuamaesi 

By savingwordtracts

The Spirit Of The Sun

 

 

The bee knows where to find pollens;

the spider, how to span a chasm—

      driven, in the blood.

The stream follows the slope,

the way to the sea

      in rustling meander,

gathering moss, throwing gloss.

 

The sun, none can block

      his way, or slow his course

  till decked with a garland

      of golden rose.

             

It’s in the blood,

    in a genetic transmutation

       wrought by the ageless hand

that sculptured

    floating moon and winking eyes.

    

The sun cuts a highway in a jungle,

    drills light in pitch darkness;

       he sucks honey from rock,

draws the ire of fleas in the lea.

 

Cry against the scotching heat,

    but embrace his warmth less

       winter whines when summer

flees for lack of spring.

 

 

 

© 2017 Celestine Ikwuamaesi 

By savingwordtracts

Scrap Note

Scrap Note
(Heb 4:13)

Nothing
in all creation
is hidden
       from God.

Everything
is naked and exposed
before his eyes;
       he’s the one

to whom
we are
        accountable.

© 2017 Celestine Ikwuamaesi

By savingwordtracts

A Tear For Syria

The nation sprawls, prostrate:
broken limbs, crumbling bodies;
valley of vultures,
cloud of flies,
frisking scavengers.

Victory throws a party for ghosts;
a once boisterous land—
now a silhouette of what was:
a land of the dancing dead.

The victor towers over rubbles,
wearing rueful impish glee.
He stands, stern, gaunt as death,
tight-lipped; grim irony on a face

pondering the weight of victory
as soot settles after an inferno,
soothing the pain of death
paling the pants for life.

Civilization without humanity;
blood turns muddy,
red puddle, and bricks—
homes for ghosts

in a land once of the living.

© 2017 Celestine Ikwuamaesi 

By savingwordtracts

A Moment’s Silence 

Eulogy echoes in a quiet heart
at the death of a beloved one.
In silence, the soul reaches
out where tear tarries

and sigh blocks the mind
from pondering: “Who next?”
The mind floats in space,
the eye reads a one-liner, bold:

A time for everything on earth.

© 2017 Celestine Ikwuamaesi

By savingwordtracts

I Still Love My Love

Don’t ask,
who splashed my daughter
with dungy water?
Don’t ask, what next?
For she indeed is dirty;
not worth my hug.
Awful, she stinks,
a hog wallow——
her beauty all gone.

Swarms of flies find
a spot——a perch
for a trillion legs.
Vultures hover,
crane to swoop on her,
on my beauty.

I’d warned her on the danger——
the hazard of roaming from home;
and the price. I did!
But she failed to ponder
the croons and whooper,
and fell for the lure

of one, who, pretty sly,
cares for nothing
but damage my cause.

She’s been my daughter, still is!
She’s still my beauty, in spite
of the muddy water.
I always see me in her;
time freezes with her,
her eyes, a spell.

So, I, shall clean the smudge.
My diamond shall wink again
and sparkle, day or night.
My rose shall glow, undimmed
by the filthy splash.
I see through the smudge;
the me in her speaks elegantly:
my just essence.

I won’t mind the pain,
the sweat, the blood
to win back my love.
I shall redeem her, take her out,
and give her a clean up.
I shall recover my joy!

I, shall retrieve my lost!

© 2017 Celestine Ikwuamaesi

By savingwordtracts