Gaining My Mind (Hearing voices)

By -
Gaining My Mind (Hearing voices)

I hear voices
Not of angels but of men
Not of saints but of poets
Not of poets with us
But those gone

I heard Coleridge
As I cross the bridge
The divide between bards
And teething brats
I hear Kipling
When sleeping
When awake
I hear Blake
Never written
Lores, long forgotten
Were told to me in depth
In fear I caught my breath
As I hear from silence
From the hush and darkness
Of my sleepless night
I became a knight
Named for an errand
A mission to herald
Like the muezzin call
The pious to prayer
These voices call
My pen and I to paper

Bleed my pen
Bleed, tell the children
Life is a thing they do not know
Tell the adults they cannot know
What life is

Tell them
They cannot win always
Life is for living
And not racing

Spew my pen
Tell the history of future
Weave a new culture
Verse a new fashion
Sing new vision.

Comments

  1. AnonymousMarch 8, 2012 at 9:49 AM

    Very nice Oladipupo.so you hear the voices of ghosts?weird, but then you are a poet and so you see and hear differently.

    from Bunmi Igein

    ReplyDelete
  2. Lehua328@aol.comMarch 9, 2012 at 4:09 AM

    Beautiful words; my favorite beite the last stanza--you out did you yourself. Like a a painter not unveiling his work until the final brush stroke.

    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

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

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