Charred Lamentations

Charred shores have engulfed the hedges
Of the pages that hid Braille
Liturgy dances,
The thirsty sandstorms drank all the grain
All the unquenched dust strewed
Balanced between the birth of a river
The bleeding earth, entombed in stiffened fever
Bruised languages of the pen
That showered the seasons
The history
Of salt pluming from sunny climes
All peeled, the seeds that fallows and gallows choked
On the holes
Survived with torn dress of the soul
And every reward of redress
With blacksmith’s spell of raging fires
Rummaging the tongue
Like orgasmic speck littered with Lilith clitoris,
The bottom was bottled in infernal tongs – the coals
Yearning for
The last filthiest dream to fold a corpse
Can the fashion of seasons unite the roads?
Of the lips into a crop
Crippled by the allegory caves
Remark the tiny luck of lame faith
Waiting for the apple to fall
Just proxy to the toe of the cross
The jumps to decapitate roses’ stems
To build a bridgehead
From eternity to beginnings nailed on timelessness’
Death bed.

And I am widened by fat winds
Astronomical and symphonic in recitational magnitude
Celestial poetry,
Born from the boiled hymens of silent virgin stars.
I was there
When the spirit of lyrical composure tumbled on rocks
When Homer couldn’t see but curved in the womb of time.
Sight shadows, power plays and hymnal dances
Sought from bending meadows in the parochial incapacitation
But I am torn as a savage of words,
Moored in my canal of cold flower debris as the wild stem of oddity.
There were flaming ores sheathed from the eyes of humanity
Then griots rose in the pits of darkness.
It was the honey comb in the vaginal fortress
Filled with godly metaphors and sulking similes.
Hearts wilted in sheer agony in the chalice bowel of unrequition
Sinking my soliloquies in the unspoken chagrin,
Saudade charred the shores of the filthy escarpments of expression,
Bulging mediocrity of poetic license and it spread…

Eyes soared to imagine the needle hole
Lit the splintery tunnels
Blades of grasses
Host the dew of a schism nightgown
To give the epitaph a palm cover of its own
The pond depth
Sewed lifelines from the earth’s dirtiest sponge
Threads and many colors,
But life is glued from the breast
Parlance sieves
That every chaff called the blackjack gardens
The windings of subtly staple grief
Hidden leaves drank from the ashtrays on the earthen.

Paths- spindle and sash,
Tomb rhythms made templates as standards
Paddle whips strung the backs of wordsmiths in absolute lament.
I weep in the inscrutable womb of the deserted peninsula
Of art moulded as a cosmic joke from filial claptrap
Mixed with haunted sea’s vomit.
Ah, ornamental petals of freedom
But this is my life,
If the cadavers squeal at the genital sermons
Let it be known that we tried to pry into specificities.
We bonded magma to Styx to ensure survival
Having shrouded the lungs of Kit-Mikayi in the quest for ink.

Meadows heaping
Searching through the promise of tomorrow
Dark alleys,
Only key uprooted from the crying sun disc
Became heightened wilderness
Tramped smell of flowers
Found solace beneath the feet
Pruning tongues milled their taste
Into rusty night limes
That formed redemption
Bridal curls,
Looking for the shelves for fruition
Locked every creed in bruised wrath seal.

May the jaw that burdens
Mince the burden of an arsenal by its taste
For heavenward
Lean on the fate unknown to the lamb
As the couched knives seek grant,
By the throat?
And the chirping jingles covet requiem send-off
Rattled, the sawyers’ reap
Sprouted serial terraced heaps
Cerberus guard lids
With the scorn of unquenchable rabies.

Hunted by silhouettes
Silky fingers unraveled crates
Dug from certain walls
Transferred humour out the gardens
Slabs narrate the silence than the lawns can engulf
Shelled title waves inside mouths,
Into which seas laugh
Strew fever on the soul’s thighs.

© Omondi Ochuka & Eddy Ongili 2014


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