People say I use a lot of biblical allegories. Isn’t it something we should expect from a girl who at childhood, ate from the pages of the good book and shared its juice with anyone who cared to have some? It is true that my mind has been stretched by critical thinking, and holds no promise of returning to its former dimensions. It is true that I no longer rush to the cathedral when the bells ring on Sundays. It is true that I am now of the opinion that your parishes hold more perishing people than a strip club. And it is true that my days of practicing religion ended years ago.
These days, I am consumed with thoughts so heavy and dreams (ambitions) that can break the neck of hope. Most days I am alone and poetry is my only companion. I especially like how it sees my being in its multi-dimensional state, the height, length, and breadth. I agree that poetry is like a needle, sometimes it pierces you, makes you lose some blood, other times it stitches you. Nevertheless, poetry filled the void created when I got rid of religion. It has become many things to me:
– the last wine served at the wedding in Cana, both the brewer and the guests at the party cannot have enough
– the communion wine, poetry is the way a dying poet says, “… this is my blood that was shed for you. Drink this in remembrance of me”
– and at other times, it is the cup of vinegar life gives me before nailing me to the cross of gloom.
I do not know what else would change but I have completely accepted that my life is the first draft of a story written by God and living truly is how it gets edited. Many more paragraphs will be eliminated. New characters will be introduced just as old ones exit the story in coffins of dead friendships. Punctuation marks such as commas will be positioned into more sentences than I may imagine. Perhaps, to help me slow down, pause and catch a breath. There will be question marks all over the place because questions are lines on maps and the reason we often say “a child who asks questions will not miss his/her way”.
The plot of my story might change and the twists may not be anything you can relate with but at the end when legacy reads out my epilogue, you all will be sure, without a doubt, that I lived.
The poem, "Sugar on wet Sand" by Omodero David, is experimental and daring. The poet is set to take the #poetrycommunity by storm and our fingers are crossed.
Read the #poem here:
#poem #poetry #writing
"Along Came Love" by Zubair Hassan Baba, is what we might refer to as brilliant historical fiction. You may smile or sigh but surely, you will fall deeply in love with Zubair's storytelling style at the end of it all.
Read story here: https://eboquills.com/2021/05/01/along-came-love-a-short-story-by-zubair-hassan-baba/
"...I am the voice of reason,
That dance not to the deceitful tone
Of political eloquence and propaganda
I am the voice above religious hypocrisy and sycophancy
Truth is my warrant and change is my cause..."
Who Hears Me? By Etim Bassey Onyam
Read here: https://eboquills.com/2021/04/24/one-poem-by-etim-bassey-onyam/