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What is it about blood
What taste that so embalmed the sensibility in grease redness
What pride in spillage of our souls
At the alter of greedy cacophony.
What beats birthed this dance of blood spree spiking missteps  in  dance hall dismemberment of souls of sweet love
What heart adjudged my trueness of you in this confusion of blood lets in scaffold's and veils of religion, in cultural biases and skin pigmentations.
As the sky hoovers and clouds empties itself my soul and love I pour offering that one thing you desire... Trueness! The singleness of our blood colour.
Let our  blood  mingle in oneness of flow And Our love swings in smoothness of heavenly cast like coasting clouds despite variations.
Our love is the true taste of blood and the true colours of our being.
Love is Heavenly.
I crave to bloom and bloom on you
Loath to shine on in your sadness
I long  to be the sun of your brightness
I wean  on thoughts of you
Like a toddler I dread the first step
But my leaking inks urges me on
lurking thoughts of you flows on on
I can express in shades of whites and black lining dots only
Hoping to make imprints on you
Blaze your heart with shining crystals
Of lyrics and words as you flip the next page and scan the lines of you.
May my unskilled dots charm that innocence of your unspoken love
And sooth like a balm that pain in your inner space for your love can flow still.
And this love my wet ink will share.
  Oct 2020 Otuogbodor Okeibunor
Khoi
A rhythmic poem
Beethoven danced with Mozart
uncanningly words
My emptiness
is
the wide space awaiting your occupation
Fill me up with your trueness
Cage me
in the depths of your silence
My heart hovez for you
My lovez nest with you
Fill me up
Fill me up
Belovedz
Inspired by Melancholy of innocence
My dear, erudite fellow…!
Schemed and skilled in academic prowess
Celebrated at your time as accomplished
At your season you were adhered and revered
Extol in your adorn ceremonial gown and cap
That Season are memories well celebrated and spoken of
But seasons come, seasons go!
Old seasons heralds’ new seasons
And yet new season another season
Seasons come in succession and progression
One birthing another, for yet another
And another like in circles
No! not circles of rounds but pyramids of circles
Changing hypotheses Progressing humanity;
Nomenclatures of human existence needing no divinations.
However, Human perversions; greed, pride, and more….
Configurations that have nibbled nature and time scheduled blessings:
A beautiful life, charming nature, a gift scuttled by vein makeups.
Make-ups that changes originality and mars the truth!
Sir, your celebrated research and findings were great yesterday
Beautiful yesterday was history for great tomorrow to cope.
Oh! Beautiful yesterday, salty today not fit tomorrow
The irony of seasons gift of nature but welcomed
Welcomed like the plantains stems that plans its maturity and gives way.
Do we say more?
Of the pumpkins that spreads its hands and tips, anchor its support to grow and births great seeds to replace itself
For posterity is in the replication of self in truth and character:
The excellence of continued originality in human search and psyche
This is the Hallmark of Academic definitions and redefinitions.
Societal evolutions pass on from age to age, from generation to generation.
Wither re’ you’ sir?
-_______________
__­___________       _______________
Deep seethed question you only can answer.
But you ought to know this…...!
The ground is not strong enough to stop sprouting young seeds.
My pain all these years….!
The Heartache ebbing inwards me like ocean tides
Numbs the very fibers of my skin smothering me breathe
Dictating and detaching me from this human beauty
The sun blazing silky sands of the beach do not burn as much.
Decades of wars of subjugations
400 and one year’s war for appreciation
I am asphyxiated by my neighbor’s stares
Stare burning my black skin of its beauty and gaiety
Blazing stares of generational scourge
Contending my gift of strength with gritty bites
Pining down dreams and aspirations of one society
Scoffing at conversations the true Word of creation “BEAUTIFUL”
Proposing a make-believe that alters my inertness.
“I can’t Breathe” “I Can't Breathe” “I Can't Breathe”
Another reverberating echo of lynching and killing of one black person.
Strangulating the common ideals that build oneness.
Asphyxiating both our dreams and vision of commonness of mind and life living….
Our true beauty in stagnation!
(For Flord George May 2020)
In the dark we groove for light
Awaiting again the lion's roar
To awaken us from a stupor
A Maniac infuse to our culture
Mislearnig adventures incured by our search
Searching for light with the touch in hand
Searching within the endless tunnels of knowledge
Bellowing our rich forest and mangroves
Bastadizing the deep sea of life bestowment.
True and of a truth...!
Silence is a guide but we lost touch of the hunters skills
Skills that unwind the pantheon, crossed the hyaenea
And put paid to the antics of the Foxes
Our quest is  now an inquests
Following the foxes of  this sphere in a hide and seek dance
A salient dance of alienation between the Hunter and the antelope.
Will the lion ever roar again..?
Chinua Achebe, Kofi Awenora,Senghor, Bongo Mbeti,
Dennis Brutus, Alex La Guma, Anthol Fugar
Nelson Mandela, Cyprain Ekwensi,
Christopher Okigbo and now Gabriel Okara
....And other great lions
Living and dead whose roaring sounds
Cascades our spheres and beyond.
The great lioness;
Bessie Head,  Nardi Gordimar,Mariana Ba,
Mabel Segun, Amata Aido,, Doris Lessing
Helen Oviagere, Buchi Emecheta.....!
Your breast has not dried up yet
And your ******* still drips with milk of knowledge
Only we lack sulking skills to quesh the hunger and thirst
We cry for trivialities searching for food outside our barns and homesteads
We long and thirst for great sayings with Witt
Idioms with Music accomplishments to rummage deep into our marrow
Pickerng into our very being .....Healing!
We long for the roaring Lions
Seeking sounds to penetrate deep into our  persons
We long for true words and essences
Piercing through  the very depths of our soul

Written by
Otuogbodor Okeibunor  Abuja, Nigeria
— The End —
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