Poetry

Amu Nnadi

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A Field of Echoes

… and mind flutters to a close
eyelids to slumber
all over, a certain darkness emerges
earth is populated with nothing
but a tempered sigh t

night flashes white underwear
as meteor, quickly closes her thighs
mortified by the radiance of stars
she grows shy as mimosa pudica
dies from shame of too much conceit

from a sprawling field of echoes
life raises its braided head of beads
butterflies flutter, wings bearing pollen
far off, rainbow fishes in sea of grey clouds
for anagrams, net dripping rain

mushroom places on rotten wood
a proud crown; elsewhere stanzas sit
by a fire, warming my naked toes
poems gasp for air, rising as spark
neck held by grasping fingers of smoke

across the waistline of thought
a belt of black ink runs, crossing eyes
draining teas, sighs of my muse
melding myriad meanings mindlessly
in frame of flowers and wilful weed

sometimes a poem is dreamed
as pollen, sometimes a twig
or line of awakening   like this
tells you the mind is gone
to dwell, as smoke, among the clouds

Shadow

forlorn being, crazed stalker, shadow
you follow every thing, every where
not form or substance, hue of sorrow,
darkness assumes you, mimicking life
mocking every move and movement

you are what light chases out of things
silent cry, not alive or fully formed
edges taper off to hide your vapid spirit
in frame of arabesque light, flowing into
the surrounding nothingness of being

what hides in things is without blood
it escapes as wraiths in body and form
chest without heart, eyes without sight
mouth open, uttering not a single sigh
poem not written, projections without

hungry to be seen or heard or known
aching to be touched or felt to become
dark like this soul, flowing from within
poetry of deep-lying reflection of things
shadow of something dying to be loved

Confessional

same way every day life begins
on long solemn road, walking
chill on gone hearts descends
baptising the absence of cheer

slowly dawn unveils her tongue
spirits in grim procession depart
bearers of night’s last darkness
and pleasure, breathing as dew

proclaims sun’s white ascension
pilgrims juggling time as beads
holding in last-toned shadows
the promise of light that comes

darkly the days we travel begin
soon, wattled cocks play ikolo
with wailing life always begins
in the dark soul sun finds a way

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