Shadow Of The Past Poem by Tunji Ibrahim

...We have to see and feel the honour of the past before we begin to talk of the glory of the present... Memory consumed me in rust. A sourpuss' countenance engulfed my pronominal case. Let the sun scorch and drink my tears... Conversing into the dusk, wondrously engrossed, hitherto poring... My being folded into nothingness of nothingness, imbued with the truthful reality of an awesome element; passing by was a sure phrase, but not without a shot of eyes at a lone spiffy figure, nature rare gift fiendishly real, palpably busied with one of domestic chores as hands dancing mildly and skillfully on a flatsome stone, grinding. An enigmatic smile played on my face... smug, immersed in the captivity of equal sensitivity. Poked as being choked in the current yoke. Words flew and came down on my whole craft of flesh like a ton of bricks. One of tomfoolery to digress from the core of origin... wholly smitten, awestruck... swooned as I was, realizing clinically though was he, nay, she. Like a pen on a roll of paper, the resonance of my thought emptied, crusted with a singular, but heroic resolve of mythic proportions. A word be won to let loose the flow of feelings, the cluttered mind that housed my being. At dawn, the following day, my heart seared like flame, my head burning through the muzzy marrow of my bone... blooming with the same crest of thought till pouring down the wholesomeness of my heartbeat on fetish paper, smuggled onto some 'un to ease the smashing weight of the soused moment. My heart and its beat were exalted and celebrated with all enthusiasm and epic. As rolling amber eyes over every miniature line spewed up a keg of smirks... kept in the heart in silent sighs. For several ages, feet shuffled triumphantly to the effusive roll of drums in mutual ecstasy, grew rapidly like moss on virgin rocks. The fulfilling essence seemed to have evolved in the offing, unmutated... Ouch... Over a considerable span such as in cantata, felt concussed as though by an immanent whirlwind... The tangoed feet swept off the wonted earth; each marooned at the double in unmutual mutation. Now what frowsty rime in fickle rhythm... redolent with the smell of the unmitigated past whereon impossible to swoop nor to ride on its shadow.