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Emmanuel Idem: Seeds Splatter


My hand is the testament to my guilt,
Engulfed within itself to conceal a growing sin.
I would watch with masked disdain, blood
Trickle, desire in its wake, nerves heightening
Downwards, towards the fulcrum of lust. Till
I am a fluidless duct, firing blanks. Till
I am nothing, nothing but a puppet
Jerking to the rhythm of damnation.

My room is a museum of sticky aftermaths,
A snake swallowing its tail, the continuous cycle to conceal
Spilled secrets. The
Pulse of exhilaration inspired; the
Rushing epiphany of guttural melodies,
Series of waves finding its ending
Within bulging shores, and each
Ending, only but a new beginning

But sometimes the seeds splatter
The evidence clinging to fingernails
And now you can judge a man
Who soullessly sacrifices millions of swimming souls
For a single slice of fading euphoria.

Poetry: Emmanuel Idem
Photo by Scott Sanker on Unsplash (modified)

Idem Emmanuel
Idem Emmanuel
I'm Idem, Emmanuel. I have an addictive love for poetry and cannot resist reading any poem I find. I try to use my poems to understand the intricacies of life and to search for higher love. I also enjoy playing chess in the day and taking long solitary walks in the night. I write from Calabar, Nigeria.

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