Desmond Okon Poems

My land is ready for its harvest,
Perch ferociously in our soul.
Melt the crust of the earth,
And grant us the strength to fill our baskets.
...

Oh, how luscious it feels,
Being there, Still are the hills.
I mash caution with heels,
Sweaty palms move freely, gliding,
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So fused in us,
Body and spirit a set.
So elegant and gracious is body formed. And blood and bones,
And organs and nerves, yet weak like its nature-dust!
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Freedom, his name was freedom.

I, as an African was born by your onerous desire,
Caged from the bondage of polar bears, I inhaled CO2.
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Dear lonely and desolate grave,
How long shall thou lie in wait to satisfy thy soul?
How ye show the glutton of thy forebears in fiery flow?
Row toll the gong of the shattered homes of the late,
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Here comes the moment,
When days are filled with dust, running tirelessly,
From the wind to earth crust.
When the sky struggles with the clouds,
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In your hands, all is perfect.
Where sorrow is bereaved and buried by ever flowing joy,
Where peace hovers my crown and reveals the mystery of your potency.
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I wish this world will stop and think about itself,
How the people saunting its belly breathe infamy.
The eyes of men hunt for those to slaughter as sacrifice,
Enriching themselves,
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With a throng of grins the day was born,
The hearts danced for another is here with glee.
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My world is wrecked, my flaw!
I need thee to bring it back up.
How will I quench this flame and preserve thy flame?
How will I sieve the embers from the ashes?
...