'Sometimes it dulls our senses,
Sometimes it pains our emotions -
What could it be?
Sometimes it overbears our heartbeats,
And outweighs our breathings -
You think its love? '
This flame returns those days
To me like an image in a mirror:
When we first set fire on our woods;
How it rose to a furnace
When we gave it all our tinders.
As the rain revealed its advent
Through the grey clouds amassing,
The thunder rumbling,
The wind blowing;
How we made a shelter
With some bamboos and thatches
Over the fire so that when the rain
Arrived, our fire sustained its dry,
Our heads too caught a few drops.
When after the rain we ran out of fuel;
How we bent to blow, with our mouths,
The dying embers to become flames
And to long-live this dearth.
Being drenched by the fuming smoke
And by our own sweats,
And exhausted from a long forcing out
Of air, you rose defying my petition,
You walked out on me, you left.
Thenceforth i have remained bent
Blowing the fire even in the falling off
Of my breath and strength...
Hence, if i drop someday would i be
Able to set the fire again
When i fall back to earth
From an overcast steep?
Goodness Tchibueze's Other Poems
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Comments about this poem (Fourteen February by Goodness Tchibueze )
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
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