My night was a beautiful bastard
An horrible son of my thoughts of uncensured wings.
My thoughts are crumbled gravels in delicious dishes
served my mum, my dad, my siblings and the society.
My thoughts are
Why we cannot sleep and wake into some past days
and must be the next day…
why the earth is our place and not
somewhere within the space
my thoughts are
why we need to cry in pain
and laugh in joy,
why not be sad in the room of laughter?
why not laugh at the banquet of sorrows?
then my night
was an arrival of my long desired nemesis
an home coming of worthy expulsion from rest.
here I am
somewhere between the clearity of darkness
and gloom of lights,
we see to be blind and we
are blind to see…
thier clothes are decorated nakedness
and protruding decadence,
they laugh because there is only a slice of
bread for a thousand mouths,
their sorrow comes
in the season of plenty,
when oceans swell water and not blood
when the rain is not a fall of huge stones…
when birds sing and do not cry
when the sheep do not devour their sons or daughters…
the day is a beautiful herald of fear
and chaser of children into surreptitious closets.
the night is a gallant brightness in her proudly prime
works are smooth and we walk in cadences
through the crevice that links the abyss of struggles
to the den of futility…
here I come.
my home of marooned oblivion
my journey into familiar strange land…
I shall be the way I ever wanted to be….
just at a breath to being awake,
my left finger points
to tell God he was a bastard.
that was because he might have woken me.
I hate the smile of the sun at 10
then I rose to tell mum a good night,
and wished her struggles and pains in her crevices
as she steps out to work. it was morning…
my silent prayers were the curses that woke
my shirt is only an umbrella to cover my head
from the rain that falls from the sun
it is mad men who wear clothes
i need none! not a pant.
let me run!
i must catch the tides of time in my tentacles,
the prize for this is a precious handful of nothingness…
let me laugh at men
that are lunatic.
they are packed in onions of coats
and decorated in colours of paints.
why should you garment maggots in beautiful nothing?
I laugh at men
that are retched.
they build crumbling heights in debilitating mansions
of offices, homes, and towers of possessions.
one pauper owns a 30floor decked house
so poor that when he died
he lacks even a cap to wear into the beautiful world of true wealth.
brought from his topmost floor
to lowest space of earth-
some 6feet deeper.
not even able to pay at the gay gate of the grave.
I walked through the busy
road in caty pace of scorn and pride,
I lauged at lazy humans,
they wake before the trumpet of
to vend for vanity in serious insanity
of transactions, and strive…
they know not the tales of times and trials
where trial gets tired and time is never used,
where trial dies and time ticks gently
and intentionally in the watch on intelligent wrists…
I cannot be less happy
I boldly walk the way of the world
without the insanity of clothing
but with pure brilliance of a body, a clay, a food for grave…
they spoilt my paradise,
wicked humans that are cocooned
in perpetual melancholy and pains and folly.
just at a jump into serenade world of aqua-creatures,
a world of songs and sex without gender cognizance…
just at a jump
from this low height of bricks and roads
and cars and noise and pollution and mechanics
and deleterious properties…
just at a jump…
my mother and grandmother are here
my father and grandfather are here
grandmother said I have walked
the ways her mothers never walked
grandfather said I have seen the
sights his fathers never saw
mum said I dared the God of all the earth
dad said I loved the god of all the world…
But one thing of all,
for which alone I am sure-
I only asked
why we need to do things the ways
they should be done.
When I read this poetry
then I told my self
thoughts are wide wild wheels with wand of wonders
I choose to rather think and dance to the music of muse
than get mad on the merry-go-round of mixed mind
Author: Adeyemo E.O
Adeyemo E.O is poet and writer, who functions conveniently in all forms of writing. He works with blogs and publishing magazines. He was born in the early 90s and studies at Obafemi Awolowo University, Ile Ife, Nigeria.