The Sects Poem by Haruna Garba

The Sects

Buried below the surface
Lies the red tap-
Twin gingerly arms
Re-affirming loyalty
Swayed by the wind
And I who make the green his pet
Its zone, my kingdom
With itchy wisdom teeth
Commune with it
Fingers inclined to frisking

Each arm is an antenna
The denominator buried deep
Two wholes emerged from one
Two entities fused at the abdomen
Is such an absurd birth
Yet on ripening, the LCM is bound
To bring solution from the spoil
Solution, from the ruins of halves
But I am not good at this thing
As disintegrating, dismantling
Of that from which will appear a whole

And only when the bottom
In frailty lies with the top
Then shall merge a whole
So I felt each arm
Mine no less than the wind's
Has found no assurance of prop
And now my mouth is a delta
The tributes of the tributaries paid in to it
Why salivate but for the roots
Which hide themselves in quagmire
But carrot is uprooted by the leaves
Like the rabbit is, by the discie
And seer, o seer- where are you?
But his face tells surprise
I who approach the golden halo
Is cheddar cheese to ginger
Red, yellow swirls blend
With the base of my aura
You've a terrible background, says he
The red sternum type brings up your rear
And with it, you can't stay and so
No limit to your probability tree

Sunday, February 7, 2016
Topic(s) of this poem: sadness
Haruna Garba

Haruna Garba

Dagauda, Bauchi State, Nigeria
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