The rust in trust

1 Comment

 

Selected poems

 

 

Weavers, leaders, and deceivers

Very unpleasant feeling.

Silently banging, dong ding.

The rust in trust,

From nowhere but dust.

See metal from the lumberyard,

See less need and much want.

 

To make a choice is one hard nut.

To decide and stand, to point and dot.

What if ... ? How will it ... ? rush!

... make a mistake, rush,

Give to who deserves it not,

And with it, he ties you the confusion knot.

 

Appearance may be preferred,

Attitude shown may to be accepted.

But in acts, all unknown minds appear,

Give different perspective, claims Ahitophel.

Funny he agrees, applies it without smelling foul.

He listens to all, taking good advice as dead.

 

And now I fail to understand,

Where philosophy will take its stand.

To blame the givers of power,

Or to the receivers who see not what is dear.

 

How come we own not a third eye?

To see reactions before our actions,

What they will do with what they were given,

See their pride and their selfish dictations,

See them leave us in hell while they are in heaven,

Living the life and leaving us to die.

 

But who will own a third eye and who will not?

And when afforded to all, we still will know not.

The wishes of the many that as a result, suffer,

Will easily be forgotten, as they shift to the receiving end of power.

Do we say that power itself destroys the humanity in man?

If not, then who, what and where do we, this blame, hang?

— Anuforo Goodluck Eziokwu

 

 

On the small victories of daily life

Hardly had the paint dried

On the newly furnished room of my self-doubt

When I found the sweet smell of tamed ambition

Chasing me.

Watching the sun set for the last time

And the love I lost taking its place,

The wind chasing the water,

The water licking the land,

The land embracing my step,

I realise: the wind is my breath.

So I breathe easy

And feel the night air grow cool

The stars stop their frantic twinkling

Naked wonder is the new rule.

No more felling stone

And falling for the stone-hearted

No more fearing death

And fearing for the dear departed.

This is the philosophy of now.

And forever.

The quaint ceremonies of hate

And sweet surrender.

So surrender.

And may the shadows of impurity

Never darken your doorstep again,

May you never run thirsty

Or run after thirsty friends.

No one pretends to be

More than what they see in the mirror

For people will always be

Only children waiting for a late dinner

— D.G. Yntiso

 

 

gang-based violence

I dreamt that you were a raging river

and awoke to find myself

in your memory banks

 

a blanket of doubt hugs me in the night

as i cuddle with the reflection of my shadow

lullabies sung from hung throats

 

these are my first words

meaning is stretched across lips like skin across drums

reverberating

 

touched by an angel

my skin glows in the dark

and sheds in the moonlight

 

bite-size philosophies

run amok in the streets

offering dime-store salvation

— D.G. Yntiso

Topic tags: Anuforo Goodluck Eziokwu, D. G. Yntiso, poetry

 

 

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Existing comments

These poems are passionate, truthful, and life-affirming in the face of adversity. We need more poems like these! Thank you.
Jena Woodhouse | 07 February 2018


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