A Poet Can Never Die Poem by David Olusanya

A poet can never die
nor does he go to sleep.
A poet's demise is a loud lie,
it's a waste to wail and weep.

A poet is never dead
he lives in fire and in the breeze.
A poet is forever read
In the clap rhythm of forest trees.

A poet is a city,
the madman running the street,
the madam running a charity,
the mallam running to greet.

A poet is in a child
sipping mucus and nibbling sand,
the infant mild and wild,
the adult that understands.

A poet is in the air
the foul odour, the fruity smell,
the ugly things, the beauty rare,
the standing dwarfs, the giants fell.

A poet's death is fake
he's in the ticking time;
He never goes on break,
to mourn him is a crime.

A poet is everywhere,
the scorching sun, the relief rain.
He is the atmosphere
and the vast galaxy chain.

A poet is forever talking
in dead and living matters.
His shadow is always stalking
in spoken and written letters.

A poet is every name
with or without fame;
Of all things low and high,
a poet is you and I.

David O. Olusanya