"borehole" poems
Barren,
Open,
Plain,
No water,
No life,
No rain,
A cracked ground,
A dry river,
An old borehole,
Is this my life?
What's wrong with me?
This drought by itself,
Shall **** us all.
Nov 17, 2015
Nov 17, 2015 at 12:33 PM UTC
I handle my liquor as well — as a well striving to keep afloat.
In the shadows the nights stretch long, and I come across a girl
with a captivating smile; her body, however, bore the marks of
countless encounters, of each man who sunk in her, a much deeper
borehole. Yet, she adorns herself with a cross, perhaps a silent
testament for both parties to start off by saying their own grace.
I’m seemingly fighting inner demons; as a silent war etched upon
my face — all the while chasing after every idea to extend this
human race. Yet, it is a cruel irony that the most profound revelations
often emerge only after, we have drowned ourselves in the depths
of unspoken answers in our cups.
And so, the clash of poor ideas and the taste of liquor lingers on;
as the drinks act as an unequal guide, to the morning — where in
the aftermath, the bitter collision of misguided notions and the
haunting essence of spirits endures.
Nov 30, 2024
Nov 30, 2024 at 6:07 AM UTC
Suicide
Hey don’t be weak do it ,
My thoughts hurt me sharper than
The distance between me and her
I got over her but forget to forget her
It digs deeper than a borehole driller
I cried in the mirror as I
Pinched my ****** skin to feel alive
Once again the first enemy on my list
Came closer,my thoughts
Slash that blade across your wrists
I thought
Have never loved so hard
Never did I know love can be a twisted
Destiny
The pain inside of me made me loose my mind
How can something so free something so gentle turn this venomous
I over dosed on pills ,and any other sort of ecstasy stimulants to make me feel some kind of way
My mind was jailed
This was one hell of a prison that even Michael scorfield couldn’t break me out of
I hated my life period
But I hated it more that she was gone
Tears would always stream down my cheeks
My emotional cuts got deeper and deeper
But I asked myself if I died today would she remember me tomorrow ?
Feb 1, 2019
Feb 1, 2019 at 4:37 AM UTC
children of death and settlement
by the tired, busy mouth
of the evening;
where the only
art is entering
you squat, bare
in the corner of darkness
suffering and smiling;
searching for the love
of another darkness
there! i mistook you
for a lost shadow, for i let you go
let you go.
before now, i slept
into the is same darkness
waiting to be ferry into tomorrow;
thinking the large body
of retrospect past
is immutable
but can't convince my pen
that the only poetry in nigeria
is her present —messed-up
by the same gone, ageless people
we revered, we have to let them go
let them go.
into the red dark
past nigeria, there
is a labyrinth tree
whose ripe fruits are love
and poetry
but was intentionally
neglected; we let it go, let it go.
looking through this tree
i can see
into the future;
above and beneath —
the ****** hatred
of death and grave's
settlement, that we can't let it go, let it go.
gently —gently and gently
i want to sink the deepest borehole
of poetry
into this tasty period
where the only water is not
only bullets; but
nepotism, tribalism
neglecting naked reality
that brewed the wine that we can't let it go
let it go.
the largest wound
in our hearts
where the past bullets
pierced our comforts
i want to heal it before i let it go, let it go.
i sauntered
through this discomforting pain;
climbing through —
the disagreements
betrayals, backbiting
debaucheries and raw selfishness —
minds who don't want to let it go, let it go
i enter the past
the way good poetry
entered the indolent
through its untied roads and
whispering potholes
with the hope
that not all nigerians are stupid
through this silent
tired, busy mouth
where the only poetry
is entering
you must broad
your search;
night is also an unemployed
graduate, wanting to let to go, let it go.
© umar yogiza jr
abuja, nigeria.
Dec 12, 2018
Dec 12, 2018 at 11:33 PM UTC