I LOVE

By -
I love the playing fields
When no one is playing (on them)
I love Sunday evenings and my aloneness
The tinge of these grasses on my neck
I love

I love the green of the young grass and the brown of its dying blades
The unwinged creatures that stray on my writing pad, I love

I love to sleep here
I love these grasses
Without a need for reciprocation
Without the pain of fear
I love

I love
All because I once loved­­­­- loved too intensely

Comments

  1. AnonymousOctober 16, 2009 at 10:40 AM

    I love this poem.the poet used words that transport you to the scene where the poet dwells and i can actually feel the pain,the love ,the near- hate emotion of the poet its a spectacular poem.I might frame it.

    *Bunmi Igein

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

The Bent Backs of our Fathers

By -
Image
Proud warriors in ancestral savannahs...is this your back that is bent.  ~David Diop Sweat shed on ancestral savannahs Blood from our grandfathers' labours The bent backs of our fathers The pains of the proud warriors And the songs of our grandmothers Have all gone to ciphers We are history’s refrain, a  tragic chorus of cycles This is not a disease, yet Our backs are bent like those before us This time from the toils we choose Our ancestral warriors in awe Watch us writhe in new pains Only this time not on the plains But in the cold gloomy northern winters Where we forget the songs  of our grandmothers  Who will save us now that we have gone too far Beyond the reach of our mother's voice and The long warm fingers of the sun.
Read more

Death by Hope

By -
Don't get carried away with her beauty, life is awesomely crafted to weary us all out. ~Diipo How we die slow, by slowly but surely hoping  That that which we hope for shall surely come to be While we truly are only living and dieing slowly And as the days go by; we hope on one hand And on the other, life is busy secretly but surely Wearying our bodies towards a sure death.
Read more

The Old Elephant

By -
Image
The Old Elephant cries He stomps around in pain His screams raised whirlwinds The ruckus was heard across the land As he trampled on the innocent shrubs                              of the Savanna The Old Elephant is weak Yet he's an elephant, not a sheep He bellows once again, this time louder His children have gone far, scattered wide  And away, b eyond the setting sun Yet they heard the Old Elephant rumble In fear, the little ones tremble The grasses shudder, the trees grumble Again, the  Old Elephant growls His children groan—they pray he rumbles forever
Read more