The Tremors of Bombing

Here I am sitting on the couch of confusion. What am I doing here? I’m soliloquising.
I’m on earth. Yes, thats for sure.
There is God. I can’t dispute that as well.
And I believe, like everyone else, that we all must pray for God to approve the budgetary allocations within the states of our minds, but why is prayer now a song of repetition?
Why is face-to-face conversation with God or Jesus an archaic act that only existed with prophets in the days of yore? When nowadays, seeing demons and speaking one-on-one is a thing of 2+2=4.
But why is having a face-to-face talk with our true Savior, an alien act in this time and age when we need it most?
My God! Is this earth not a lost kingdom? Is all these not a disgrace in disguise? For existence of all on earth is too musky, too smoky, too airy, too intangible and confusing and full of ambiguities hard to discern.
Our consciences can now be compared with nothing but faeries. Easily, love fades in our hearts like ghost fading away in movies. We jump from friendship to friendship like a wealthy princess changing her robes. A friend today is an enemy tomorrow.
Everything comes and goes. Death makes all existence on earth seem like a mistake. In short, I’m tired; let me end this soliloquy and move to poetry.

THE TREMORS OF BOMBING
A little learning is a dangerous thing
for a duck will crow
if attend the school of the cocks;
and what if norm is a son of moron?

So, please, Lord
I need a pant of wisdom
to be wise

Hang it to the stake,
find my pulse and fix it to my vein
I need to be wise

To face my hearth and think in my heart
and realise
“Rest In Peace” is a mocking statement;
for what peace is in death?

On earth
where heat of volcanic eruption
is melting the coffins

Where ants and maggots
are never letting the spirit of the deads
rest in peace

Where the tremors of bombings
are shaking the tombs
of resting buried bodies

So, Death I need you not.

Let me tread the thorns to grace
and tread the floors of
scorpions and pythons
to end up…. Immortality

Since, the protection of God is an immortal rum;
pour it in the gong of my heart,
let my spirit sip it like champagne
and live forevermore

For every time I walk the street
My heart is singing:

“Forever young, I wanna live
forever young
do you really want to live
forever and ever?….”

Samuel C. Enunwa aka samueldpoetry

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s