delalorm fiaka (19th JUNE 1988 / ACCRA, GHANA)
It hurts, it burns, pure agony it churns
In pits pitch black it tosses and turns
For your foot’s trip and your fortune’s dip it eagerly yearns
Flourishing uninvited among life’s blossoming ferns
It wails with flails frantic enough to derail
The wagon of progress and all it entails
Benign it beckons to a perpetual jail
Leaving ashes of a crippling furnace in its trail
It soothes…but for a while, camouflaging a smile
Like soot its blown away before it can stand trial
In its debauchery and its guile
It casts upon our journey a dreary mile
It’s here, it’s there, its everywhere
In you, in me and in everyone
It leaves us with nothing when the day is done
Unfulfilled desires, half-filled urns and a race unrun
But, don’t fall, stand tall, resilience enthral
Don’t crawl, give all, scale stativity’s wall
Like crimson, like bile, like drums of ethanol
Abhor the maiming malice and heed your other inner call.
Poet Other Poems
- A HOLE IN THE WHOLE IDENTITY.
- ENEMY WITHIN
- FROM THE SOUL THROUGH TO THE SOLE.
- I Sure Will Be There...Or?
- IN THE VERY CRUST OF RETROGRESSION
- INCANDESCENT PRETENCE!
- JUST CALL ME VICTORY! ! !
- KINGS? OR PINS?
- My Psalm
- Now and Then
- SALVOS OF THE FUGITIVE
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