This journey has taken me where I touched the tears of the sea
where i managed to breathe amidst all the purge of emotions
I’ve fought only to discover sometimes
fighting is pain, something I should’ve learnt not to control
Then from the lonely steps I take, the little strides I make
while listening to the twinkle of dust jumping in dried leaves
Some noises as invisible fingertips rub my eyelashes
as a sequenced momentarily scalding I now curse.
I am torn, ripped apart by chance
only to be held in the gasp of peasantry and failure
a foam that has chocked my romance and religion.
I have to understand that petals wither not out of trying
but out an emotional creed of the rain and sun
that rue’s the world in a competitors vase, I’ve kept in darkness
I’ve always been a lofty sinner and an arrogant dreamer
leavened by doctrines I shriek attempting to fit into.
I am unfaithful to myself, an incessant falling apart I avow from.
like a submissive clock that turn into a circular dream
I’ve invaded my heart and mind as a bored observer
trying to understand who is this person screaming in horror.
It’s a collision of cause that has fractured my being
as I’ve watched gleefully as my dreams fall in effect
of a punctured vice that steals my strength and crushes on it.
I am not convinced of my beliefs
having filled my vase with grinded leaves
and I called them my ore of chance.
but when I accidentally knocked it down in a fit of disappointment
all that was left eventually were disgruntled words.
When muffled screams eloped with my howling being
I sat trying to reclaim my ghosts from this loneliness that bites hard
I’ve sought to attempt stroking a violin
as if it can soothe my words back to my vase
and leave me a disturbed but not broken being.
The ghosts, my spirituality, love and social well being
All of them!
Should’ve practiced to whisper a symphony of collectiveness
to mythically disallow the metaphorical state of my existence
So that all that remained were the grinded leaves
I would’ve known where to dispose them
before weakness and wind broke my vase.
After all the right words of comfort are said, everything floats
and in a constant perception, I am left walking on myself
weeping as the wheeze of hailstorm.
(C) Eddy Ongili, 2014
All Rights Reserved.