POETRY FESTIVAL AT ILESHA

On the 5th of December, 2015

This night I worship in the shrine of words
As poetry splashes
Its cold waters, not on my skin
But within, not on my spirit,
But within, not on my soul,
But within, not on my-
Okay, what else?

Okay, my skin is shrinking,
Spirit, sinking
My soul, thinking
And my being being pricked.
And this night, I feel it deeply within
as poetry
Wets me softly with its fluid.

Enjoying my time at Ilesha @ a Poetry Festival organised by Professor Lamikanra

My name is Mide Benedict and I'm here sitting and listening to how words form itself in itself and through itself and okay, also by itself.

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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...

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

TIED TO FREEDOM by Mide Benedict

Don’t hold me down L ike I’m in some cave Just like a bird flies Where nothing breathes light Through a hidden dark sky L ike an existence lost in inexistence, Locked up in a bottle T hat only lives every day in an every minute coffin Tightened with an unbreakable cover. Free me I said, but you brought me this! What freedom is more painful than Eye balls without sights; faith without work like To walk on a spot; Mountains tied to your legs While eyes go dark As you walk unmoving: In a place surrounded by light; What a freedom! Image from : http://theadventurehandbook.com

Temple of Words

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