in midst of vicissitudes

you say

let bygones be bygones


how can this be

when one bygone has eloped

bagging along

his inadequacies

beyond boarders unknown

and the other lounged into a hole?


I digress...


and come to think of it

how similarities ring through -

that it rained in Ojoto:

after my grandmother was buried,

after my father was interred,

after my sister went to the grave.


and you may say:

rain is

now a herald of cleansing

a revelation

that their souls have reached

beyond the clouded realm of eternity.


I move on...


these vicissitudes come to town

where everything is in God's hands;


in a makeshift shade

accommodating spent men -


hungry and begging

in casting and binding session.


I shake my head...


next to them

a political signage on Trans-Ekulu bridge -

three big fat heads smirking at them

whose god is better?


I wish...


that the rain:

that leveller of realities

can sweep these vicissitudes

down Udi hills to the tributaries

linking the river lines

to the Atlantic's high current.


they sail away...

  • Author: Ifeanyichukwu Onwughalu (Pseudonym) (Offline Offline)
  • Published: May 18th, 2022 06:51
  • Comment from author about the poem: I was in transit and my thought flashed through some things: political manipulations by politicians and leaders, the masses resorting to prayers for solutions; personal losses of loved ones and recollection of events at their burials. The mind of a poet or rather a writer is not in one place. This poem is a depiction of that typical state.
  • Category: Unclassified
  • Views: 13
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