Skip to main content

A GLANCE AT MOTION GROUND SETTING: OBAFEMI AWOLOWO UNIVERSITY, ILE-IFE


They-sat-two-by-two,
Wings-tapped-together
By-a-small-big-rope.
There-they-sat
Holding-hands,-hugging
Clinging-colour-of-love
Embrace-them-they-embrace it too
Things that I have seen
In this world
In people
And even myself.
The danger that lies
In ambush for that soul who clings more
Who beholds more
Who loves more and who-
Death be sure too!-!sometimes!
And even cry more...
An ambush, fire started by the smoke
Of lost love lowered down a pit by lust
And when this be,
Dove dies
Love cries
And like light dwelling in a black-hole, ZOOM! love is gone!
But it may not be
What this mind thinks
Maybe they are-true-hearts
Two-true-things-taped-as-one
Mingling-together
On-steps-of-an-ancient-ground
Next-to-square-cups-of-grasses
Arranged-on-the-cemented-floor
Now-silently-resting-as-they-mingle-too
With-the-breeze
Calmly-giving-this-two-single-hearts
An-expression-of-a-weather-for-two.

You-shall-forever-be-a-home-for this;
Motion-ground-
Oh!-Motion-Ground;-Lovely-ground
Lying-beside-the-tallest-of-oldies
Among-the-castles-laid-in-the realm
Of-my-GREAT IFE!

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

WHO DOES THIS BELONG TO? By MIDÉ BENEDICT

This is for those Who see life as an unfair land, Where growth is fairly found only On luck's fragile and ferocious tree: It is for those whose eyes only See reality as a coin Always tossed to uncertainty: For those who see misery As an inescapable ditch, Never to be seen when its mouth agars, Never to be escaped when its venom runs, But to be delivered like a slave for a ritual, Thrown like a cotyledon into dry soil, To germinate failure like a blocked well, Hoping to salvage a droughty throat. For those whose first name is lucky, Whose last name is uncertainty And middle name misery, Know that which you know not that The poison in your tongue is The wine your life drinks; It drinks on and on till stupor calls for death And stupidity dresses its grave Like a young man before a mirror, Staring unthinkingly at his face, Till he sees greyness in his eyes. This is for those who see eye to eye With the words on this slate. Image by Midé Benedict

God and The Snail: Poetry For Some One Lost Soul

Sometimes it feels Like all is done, That this life of ours Is caught in deadly thorns: From where we cry for help in a land Where to have ears is a great taboo! But in all these... we remember...

Mute by Mide Benedict

That Friday, everyone was spitless, yet it felt as if we spoke all at once in fading tones. Adiza, Halimat's sister wore it differently, her eyes, blood red, her tongue, twisted. Mine was twisted too. Halimat laid right there, silent and unmoving; each gaze at her drove tears out of my eyes.