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Wake me up when it is Time: Poems by Anthony Ominiabohs

The Storm

Like rocky screes,
Her armies shall march
Tearing down the spirits
Of the pragmatic man

First will come the howling wind,
To bind his will in earthly decrees
Maxims and mantras will then be read
Till his fealty sways in odd degrees

Second will come the rising sand
Gushing inharmoniously in unfriendly winds
Spraying dust over man’s apraxic reason
Till his heart seeks hollowly for solace

Third will come the storm, like an unsheathed sword
With the wings of the intellect on its shiny hilt
In the fury of a splitting atom, forte will glow
Pushing this man to the clumps of homogenous despair

The storm will come, to all men some time
Fellow men would drive her incongruous mills
This man’s will, would no doubt bend or break
And scatter just like the rocky screes

But then . . . a while longer
Would come the doting sun
And free the strenuous man to lofty swing
Storm and her whims would have been a rung


Wake me up when it is Time

Hush! Let the hasty multitude rush by
To the enclaves rumoured to hold gold
Where the spotlight of notoriety glows
Like a torch in a narrow tunnel of boulders
Hush! Let my lying head no intrusion know
For I am gone to where the spirits meet
In the land I know to reveal with a bow,
all of life’s up’s and downs—
Where grace and fortunes are forever adance
To divine my place in the kingdom of man
Hush! You who hold the sounding cymbal
Let my meet go unperturbed
So the rivers joining may be smooth and fruitful
For you will know my hour
When it does strike and you see the signs,
Then and only then should you clap your gongs
And wake me up when it is time.


The Highwayman

Creeping shadows speak of night
Horses of dawn no longer bray
Nor offer consolations from this blight

Screeching creatures throw their scares
The bulging anthill grows a mound

Bearded soldiers mask your spears
Be winged companions for the perilous hour

The highwayman noisily barks,
His hounds dare a fatal bite
A strand of their draught in every night

Let them! By day too shall another round
And though no evil thought come to dine
By God shall all suns be made mine.


Unreligious Love

This broken clay pot bleeds
Waiting for you to amend
You call her your queen,
Belittle her common sense

With generic panegyrics,
You swept her off her heady feet
You think your appetence grows
But this lover’s ways are gross;

His insidious ravishing,
Leaves her aura in dark stains
His frothy promises hang loosely
Après his sated hungers

You drag this joy to a miry laugh
Debase her pride with your offhand words
You temper her flaws with a severe lash
And at night, you cuddle her lonely flesh

This broken clay pot bleeds,
Staggering away from your harness
Her content has sought to please in vain,
Tempering your injustice with her tenacity

Today her justice guides her far
The loving signpost of her tenderness
For you to learn the lessons of your ways
Go forward in time to make amends

The past has locked her rigid watch
Cos her prayers to love have been no shams
Your love has broken the aisles
And made this temple apteral.


(C) Anthony Ominiabohs

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