PAST

And so much depends
     On the broken wheel of time,
          Ticking without its second hand.

Its joy is a cluster of wild grapes
     Becoming;
          Never being,
               Harvesting into the past.

And so much depends
     On the colour of the rising sun,
          Rising into the past.

Its dream is a root of rotten rose,
     Trapped within;
          All but breaking out,
               Digging into the past.

And so much depends
     On a flying kite,
          Cutting the eye of the rainbow,
               Parting it into the past.

Its tryst is a green leaf
     Bending back;
          Breaking up,
               Painting into the past.

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GONE

I finished the steps
As a child finishes
His counts down the staircase.

I picked up stones,
Put them in my pockets
And I wondered what it is.

I ran past you,
Past your limits,
Behind the tattered flag,
Amidst the light wind
On the shoulder of the day.

And then I ran into your shadow,
Just after the flag, just then…
You were gone though,
I found you in the twilight,
Picking smooth pebbles,
But of shadows only.

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Poems: Ifeoluwa Ayandele
Image: Pixabay.com