Sometimes I tell myself that it's okay to feel this way,
that God gets tired too,
that sometimes He is the small child
slaving over a sewing machine
turning thread into warmth,
but not every sweater He makes
is made without a few loose strings,
or pockets sewn shut
or mismatched buttons.
My knees sink into the end of my bed
as I rest my elbows on my window sill.
I think as our hands face each other
and touch for the millionth time,
it's like a silent clap
that only the angels can here,
sometimes I apologize
to those resting in peace
for making their home sound more like
the ending of the movie
instead of the end of the book.
I greet God the same way
I greet your headstone.
I ask Him how He is,
why He only speaks in light,
and then I pretend to talk to Him,
when really I am talking to myself
or your headstone...again.
I say, "It's okay to feel this way.
I think it's okay to watch,
to write in depth about strangers,
I think it's okay to detach
yourself from the weight of existing.
Everyone around me built
themselves kingdoms,
they kept fire breathing dragons,
rolled out their drawbridges like red carpets
and I built myself a cardboard castle.
I built it on the highest hill
with a view of all of the kingdoms
and you know what?
I was alone,
but I had room to breathe
and sometimes that's all  you can ask for;
an empty room with a closed door
and open window.
I said grace at dinner earlier,
but I said it out of tradition,    
not out of genuine thankfulness.
So, thank you for the empty room
with the closed door and open window,
I know you're tired,
I hope you can respond when you get a chance."

I fell short of matching all of the stars in space with the raindrops that made its way to Earth
Instead, I matched the stars in your eyes with the old pain's last breath and otherworldly love's first
The clouds have opened back up for business, booming thunder and zooming lightning
Somewhere there, the flash of your smile
The beat of your heart
The coolness of your waters that quench my thirst for you

It's natural to look at nature au naturale
Like Italians and Nigerians talking with hands as expressive as Deaf lovers relay romantic verses
Clear, nimble fingers that massage my soul within the cumulonimbus and nimbostratus
Fueling, flooding, fostering the gods' apparatus


You
The final form of unfinished paintings
Give birth to worthwhile wishful thinking
On my mind like taxes and teacher's lesson plans
A soft brush adjusting to the sky's new hues kissed like ones we've missed or knew
A masterpiece in pieces of Vishnu's vision for when he returns to look for Lakshmi
Hopefully time will not be Shiva to end this for me

How does it feel to be adored by Indra, when showers descend and drench the deepest ditches to force creation of drawbridges for those dire to cross your path again?

- Ifeanyi N. Okoro II © 2021

I am self-sufficient

an island with drawbridges leading
every which way, blue
water instead of fences, green stickers
in place of war, red statements turned bold
statements proclaiming one thing or
another lit perspective on the
streets

and the funny thing is
with no sky, no atmosphere
to brand by our savage mark, corrupt and burn
full of the gray the undecided man drags with
himself

it's so hard to breathe
and each day is a marathon
in the blazing sun

where such a chilled glass of
water speaks volumes and
dives leagues beneath the
icy surface of the human
condition

above the naked sea,
the wind’s blue
castles
raise their
drawbridges
of air.

You find an old trunk
In the attic of your nani's house.
Bravely braving the dust and
Creepy cobwebs, you tip toe,
t i p p y t o e
towards this testament to the ages.
On the heavy, heavy lid
lie the introductions of old stories -
tucked beneath discarded truths
and gilded lily lies.
You push the heavy lid up
like the brave, brave child that you are.
The only sounds -
a massive groan,
and the absence of your breath.

Tucked within are treasures.

The first layer -
a thin film of castles
royal drawbridges,
a high tower,
several dozen horses,
gold necklaces,
of Kings and Queens,
and the in-betweens.

A second sheath
Decorated with tales of conquests,
a victory here and there,
tales of rigid tests,
a problem to be solved
by the truly good,
and the uniquely pure.

The last layer sits happily at the bottom.
An age-old invitation to all
who seek solace.
Mumma's old dolls sit beside
Nani's soft sarees,
faded like her hair,
and like her memory.
This layer gives warmth.

No, it is warmth.

The last layer awaits your weary heart,
It holds the secret art of
curing every bad day.
This layer will caress your worries
And fold them into
itself
         into oblivion,
or perhaps
into a Happy Ending.

What scattered life, has become of me
From the dim and narrow
I open my eyes, deeper and see
That the world is not shallow


The configuration, of what will be
Has assigned me a shadow
That shows me the traces of the past
and proceeds beyond my tunnel


Such a damp cold curse, once tangled tight and burst
Left me a widow
Beating on the chest in bewilderment
For a loss that seemed vital


For His words heaped down like a roman crown just before a battle –
all I once knew,
was now mangled and skewed
as my Empire crumbled


the rise and fall of drawbridges
cant hide what has been won
I used up my only heart
For what- a mere token?


But Seasons changed -
Again, the world seems open -
And then I find that happiness
Is harder than it’s spoken


The Noble queen once said to me,
your time is nearing
What did she mean, I've wondered
will I see the morning?


Let out a shrill unleash of will,
my heart and lungs breathed ill
But your embrace was a stronger lace
Than the substance in this pill


And it was true, I never knew
Of stars to be aligned
Such prophesies, seemed but a tease
For those who lead the blind


You Shine on me like embers
From A glowing fireside
I cannot help but feel in doubt
Of the kindness you reside


How can it be, quite steadily
I feel, as I am sure
That what you are, is not a blur
With sharper aperture


I’m bold and blue –I’ll ask of you
Upon which star you flew
Your trail so bright, sheds me a light
that I have never knew


No fate can quite illuminate
The way it’s meant to be
Can't choose the way in which we sway
Like wind upon a tree


I woke to something beautiful
You laying next to me –
And I’ll project: Eternity.
There’s nowhere I'd rather be


You woke me from a blurry sleep
killed voices in my head
lifted the shade - shed light on this haze
Made living of the dead.


Im not afraid of where you lead
I’ll run away tonight
Darkness cannot haunt my dreams
With you, I’ve found my light.

Forgiveness;
So much hangs on the weight of those three syllables.
Without it,
Your life can turn upside down,
Seemingly in a moment,
And be irrevocably changed forever.

Feeling betrayed,
The wound festers
And smoulders,
Without even noticing
Hurt and pain magnifies,
Lashing out,
Attacking,
Sticking the knife in,
For seemingly no reason,
Hurting the one who means most to you.
Portcullises lowered,
Drawbridges raised,
Fortresses built,
Till you’re both encamped on different continents,
Shooting arrows at each other,
And yourself,
Till the relationship is well and truly
Dead.

No. Communication,
Openness,
And most of all,
Forgiveness,
is a better route,
Prescient,
Kinder,
Ultimately more rewarding,
For both of you.
The rightful path is not smooth and easy,
Lessons painfully learned,
But a wiser soul be you.

no good were the rucksacks from Tuesday afternoon.
fragile reminders of forest forts,and magic tricks.
folded away, forgotten like
the tepid tranquil locket in my sister’s top

drawer---claims ee inspired her(Never,capitalize)
words
wealth
windows of opportunity

ensue the missed fortune that’s taking a break.
occasions like obstacles
like the river
like the hills
like landmines
adjusting the kingdom.
chances are drawbridges or
stumbling blocks and barriers of
possibilities and anticipation.
monumental castles and adjoining log cabins,
the raw pecking orders.

shore up your nearest and dearest
to    lower case
memorial mountain.
out of harm’s way with tiptoes of an
ostensible signature claim to fame.

(EE Cummings couldn’t have found the words)

frantically drawing boundaries

a childhood filled with people louder and angrier

insults thrown across, boomeranging into stings on cheeks

loud nights, where breaths, laughs, tears were stifled



under covers, my escapes built on castles of words

so now at nights, i continue running across drawbridges

made of bitten nails, dry throats, cheeks already tingling

moats of cotton blankets, sweet moonlit tones



how did you learn when to stop caring?

how did you learn to care for yourself?

selfishness i never learnt

loving myself a concept foreign



now my brows crinkle when i think

of myself and questions naturally

arise when i consider doing anything

for myself



working to the bones, bank balance grows

why do i still not do anything i ever dreamt of?



shadows of insecurities and anxieties

rains of tears and never being enough



i never learnt how to be a human for myself



i look for the next avenue to turn

for others to care for



but i learn and learn-

no one really cares



i flail and panic, my arms lashing for the shores

sinking again into my dreams



my nerves keeping on asking, "if not not, when? when? when?"

echoing "when" in my ears as i try to sleep



i muffle it all and drown it in the neons of social media

television shows

drinks with people who won't remember my name

presents for people who have already forgotten my name

my shoulders sag as i head home



the heaviness of leaving and pain of my existence

now that it does not cost anyone else anything

feels less burdensome but why does it still hurt so much?



life is really not that bad anymore

why do i still hurt so much on the inside?



why do everyone's voices sound so sharp coming down the phone?

Social - distancing is why
we have borders apartheid
burkas and discrimination.

Perimeter fences, canyons, pale's
hell, heaven, limbo, purgatory
all separated by our sinning.

Walls of wisdom erected by
God are mountains and rivers
are moats without drawbridges.

We are naturally racists it's in our
genetic make up or why else are
our governments reminding us?




              Lest We Forget.