Midnight (Dedicated To Gerwine) - Poem by Nkwachukwu Ogbuagu
From its own point of view,
Midnight wailed... though silently.
Pixilated pictures of a fractured, insane moon
Filled the aperture
You observed too well
From the portals of generic matters.
Wobbling across the imprints of dark voids,
I hissed, to the consternation of a presage -
That of a forty-five-year old genocide
You witnessed aboard the crests of your conscience.
A glow, fattened on the yellowness of siege, flickered!
And muted tallow burned earnestly, but slowly, calmly.
Books of infanticides opened up to shallow pages of hate,
Torn and bruised with freckled smirches of colourless blood.
Midnight was revealing.
Its mass of darkness prostituted
With the aged light she shared, shredded in bits
By the teeth of runcinated, arbour-elevated leaves.
Harridans insensitive to pogroms, heaved reclusive sighs.
And you stood, a grand witness from the rills
Of the Rhine.
Rebelling, midnight hung on the clumps of shaved hair.
Lamentations and songs of sorrow puked on the awesomeness
Of high grief.
A face posted on my sinciput, where I searched for remedies
Virgin dawns alone could proffer.
Alongside them, came art.
In principles of Monet's high-plained landscapes,
Verdant and lustful in their reach for esplanades,
I re-framed the astuteness of Renaissance - post Italy.
Midnight, with gimlet eyes, searched for me,
Her eyes, leonine and starry,
And with the fierceness of ingrained warmth.
And her heart, thrilled to bucolic ecstasy with the hard skins
Hit by a DEVOTED music maker, west of the Niger.
She lives away from me
As closely as a painting brush from a canvas.
Her hair, a healthy mass of brownish crinal assembly.
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