On The Dreary Tides Poem by Ivan Chizurum Ezeigbo

I speak for those who ride with me on the dreary tides
With auspicious hopes of being found ashore
Our Rube Goldberg’s gold that vanished beyond our very prospects
We crave for the secession of our goals from the assays of them
Maybe we might sit in abashment for a while
But never be mistaken to count it as nothing as it seems all we do
Even the adept writer suffers the writer’s block during the plane of victory
And our monumental legends hide in prognosis of an effectual sally
Because the waiting of the tiger is not to be measured as vanity

We pray Lord that our earnest prayers be answered
So we escape the rising and falling of dreary tides
It has encapsulated us in to be abased much beyond the propriety and prim humility
We no longer feel the patient grace to be ensconced, notwithstanding
And we only wrangle and relish the dreams of our precognition and mind’s photograph
Without any moxie left in us, we adopt our pensive states
Usually, often too many for the nomad, throwing tantrums
It is evident that chagrin and disillusionment has blinded us men
That riding on the dreary tides, we have lost the compos mentis

Open our eyes and hearts again to see that Great Wall we lean
That bulwark to every sally of derision
We pray, most markedly, to carry on in your tones and rhythm to the very end
And shun all seeming debacle, our mortal eyes can only see
Make us meek and loyal, not sanctimonious and priggish
We yearn to be more like You than we are to humanity
Let that transient astute be our paddle
And let Your calm, lovely arms be the yacht
Let our yelps and yowls be transformed to an ecstatic ebullience
Let me see deeper than the pregnable gamma ray, your thoughts to unfold

When they scorn and laugh and make derisory annotations of your little one, please don’t be taciturn
Show them what the mediocre have never before witnessed
Of the battalions that act by our command
Great among all beings You are
For by Thy shrewd Spirit, Thou had made all matter and force field we flabbergast
Heaven and Earth sing each day of Your excellent might
That by Thy voice, we earthlings do not dare to stand
When you are livid, we shrink to the dust that incorporates clay
And we whirl around in the wind like hallow petals
At our sight, let men behold the halo of Thy presence
Let me prostrate flat before Thee and proclaim to all nations Thy Olympian inimitable power

Blessed shall be every man that appreciate the good of Your wonders
Woe be to him that places a curse on your little ones
Who am I to go against the world, have I not You?
Thwart all unctuous Machiavellian schemes against my bright days
Let these dreary tides discipline me to acknowledge
That the power people see in me, who is but chaff, has to do with You unaided
Let these dreary tides discipline me to portray
The decorum and fidelity of your little ones
Let these dreary tides on which I ride take me up high
To land blissfully on the backs of a powerful skyward eagle

That I, without wings, much more frail and minute than the Echabods
May irradiate brighter than them who go to instigate a vendetta
And those who begrudge me of Your favors
To acclimate higher than those who are acerbic, scurrilous and inimical to the effete
To escape their fangs and snares and ditches
To float over their belligerence and hostility
That I may not be aghast by their plot in any meter of my heart
But trust till the gory danger is past
So help me God