Life is just a fleeting trance
Like scatter-graph of a trance
When I raise dust about dubious tackles
Some say I like exploding too much sparkles
Hence, I stay away like the moody moon
Yet they pester me with a poking spoon
Conjuring words from my pot of thoughts
In both open and closed plots
I soak my mind in silky sun
Why thunder always shoot a roaring gun
I shake hands with death every day
As angels look, peck and pray
Hawking Truth’s most bitter grain
And some say “is he sane? ”
I walk with saints in garments white
And demons die in confused fright
The Ocean bring news to my feet
While strolling on this jumping street
Several winds are whistling by
And flowers are smiling shy
O, what bulk of stories shall be told
As time and tide are getting old?
Copyright: Adjekpagbon Blessed Mudiaga
(Written May 11,2014)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem