Clag Of Grave Poem by Okenyi Sunday Chinweike

Why must we wait in anticipation
For that which dies?

Allow me to don the mask,
For I am plagued by shyness.
This journey cannot commence without traversing a treacherous path,
And that fills me with fear.
I am but a child at heart, a man lacking spirit,
If night lingers too long, I shall hesitate to ascend and 'become.'
A lifeless soul, aware of the beckoning grave,
My concerns lie solely in fortunes of another realm.
The life I lead feels as fragile as a pin,
Painful in its arrival, leaving behind a wake of countless scars.
I am a pitiable being, yearning for warmth.

I have come to know the world,
A vessel of hollow echoes,
A conductor of all sorrows,
A gatekeeper to the depths of Hades,
The fevered helm guiding the ages.
It knows not of the heart, only of stone,
It does not comprehend the melodies of birds, only harbors bitterness.
Oh, wretched world, master of your own hellish creation.

The more they desire your improvement,
The heavier the curse you bear.
Sit within this cosmos and unleash your cries,
In this clamoring trance, expel the burdens you carry.

Provide solace for those beautiful, cursed souls,
Let them mock the pungent scent of your eternal virtue.
Spit it out, bind it, and understand,
That humanity presents the greatest test for any individual.
We live but a single day, bidding a sorrowful farewell the next,
Let it not trouble you, for even a day lived too long is worthwhile