Echezonachukwu Nduka Poems
now that the streets are stripped
and keys lock themselves in defiance,
should nudity blind the eyes of minors?
now that the streets are filled with dry tongues
and streams dry at daybreak,
from whence should spittle flow as fountains?
you are a lad whose songs suspend all chaos
as every tongue is tempted to test a divisive theory;
your lyrics are now dead that lights the lone candle.
plucked from thorns—dry are the roses thrown at your feet.
yours is a blind eye that tell stories of yesteryear;
yet, these stories rename themselves every passing day. ...
It wasn’t the peck on my left cheek
that brought tears to witness the wrong
you’ve done to my heart.
Rather, the loudness of your silence when my
heart yearned for your soothing words.
Your words became dry like a desert thirsty for
a drop of spittle.
To quench my heart’s thirst, you offered a peck