Muttering voices

"Falling" Keith walks with mirth in his eyes Like a child that just got a new toy His feet were quite unstable Wobbling like he gonna fall. Has he not fallen already? Why bother rising? He stood against love all his youth. Its presence at home was a sham "It was only a shadow." He concluded: "Since it wasn't at home,  It couldn't be found elsewhere." But he met defeat today Staring into the warm glow of her eyes He fell like a faint feather He could grudge or muster a whimper His heart was finally freed for his prison. He finds himself in a new world He isn't so sure how to walk But he is happy he got something to lean on If he falls  Someone that won't let him fall Like a mother to her toddler learning to walk.

"Somewhere Over Here" I know a couple, They have a home in a small room At the extreme right-hand corner of a compound with adjacent rooms. Their faces reveal a desire for a better life A comfortable haven far away from the remoteness of poverty and hunger. Their lips barely uttered a word They communicated languidly with cold nods and weak gestures. They are what you would call an unfortunate family in Africa. Their hopes as citizens were stolen that morning when the mutilated election results were announced on air Which was greeted with despair and disenchantment They know it will be another quadruple years of scorching promises and penury. This couple have a family: Two worn-out adults and two kids yoked with constant infant illness. I know this couple. They are my parents. I am their sick child. We might die tomorrow. Come and save us.

"The Return"(in the memory of Chukwuemeka Akachi) My last rememberance of you  Was that night we held hands And you let mine slip away You walked far away back into the night That you let it darkness envelope us Or was it just me that was lost in this madness that cocoons us in mid-day. I could hear the castles we built in the air fall apart; this little mansion that fits us so well, where love mends our broken whole. Your absence roars at my weak self I crouch and die gradually in silence I wish I could cry But no one will hear me. They're use to my pain; they no longer bother. Each morning wakes up with its own sadness Each night falls with its own tears. Every yawn is a yearning for you Every mourn is dirge for you. I look helplessly at the door you banged On your way out.  Hoping you walk back this way again  or I die a prisoner of your return forever.     

" The Cycle" You don't know how it feels To be stabbed the second time, the third time, the fourth time... You won't feel anything again. You would only learn the habit  Of seeing yourself flow out of you in red fluids like a broken pipe. You despise the morning for bringing the thought of living You wish for the nights for it bears the alluring face of death.  "I am a fool again," you exclaim, "To give you my broken pieces." "I thought you are a heart smith. But you still cut my debris again." "To live, is to hurt or be hurt." "Either ways someone bleeds." You swore to yourself the umpteenth time To be in the league of the former. But your tender brokenness Gives you away again You walk back that same way  You had your first cut And then many others and this.

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