I Need Red - Poem by Joba Akinola
He sees red. In a snap, He frees head
He flings it, away with all decorum.
A quorum, his mental faculty cannot form
His mind is at once deformed into the form,
Of a moon-pest, a lunatick.
He read red, spread through their blunders
So like a bull, in a china shop
He began to pull, the whole place assunder,
Breaking bones, taking home,
No prisoners; this irate wave, roars like thunder.
Red, the unspoken language of violence,
The color of bloodshed,
The emblem of the hot-head.
Red, a madman, shouting in ire
Aflame with rage, eyes ablaze like hell-fire.
But now I see red, and instead of dread,
I see bread, and see wine,
I see the blood at the lamposts.
I see the angel of death pass over,
I see freedom, and I see strength.
I see red, and I see passion
A hue never out of fashion,
For red is blood, and blood is life
And as life is always is vogue,
So is rouge always in vogue.
Still I see red, the fire of desire
I see red, and begin to inquire,
'This red, how is it bred? '
And they say, 'red is primary,
It's never second, ask at the Infirmary.'
Yes, I see red, the cord that bonds kindred,
I see red, the blood that burns incense,
Before the Great Throne, offering sacrifices
For my sins, though unseen.
I see red, and see, that I need red.
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