![]() The Joy of My CradleA Poem by Bonaventure Onuabuchi![]() The pains of having responsibilities that you cannot afford to take care of![]()
At the thought of my home my mind shrinks,
And much more it does when my phone rings! For that melodic voice that will bless has a rhythm that stings, Haunts my heart, squeezes my blood and drinks. While I'm needing more blood to wash off my stain, Offering much of what I do not truly bring That much more stain I through such benevolence retain. Now, just like every then, there's this me to strangle the string. . Craving for this death that will feed my life with breath But I cannot like a coward scorn my spring Nor drink the water that can't till my night repel my thirst Such Wisdom to posterity will make my name stink. . The cradle of me on a swing, With many unclear sounds stealing my rest, My mind they fog, with their brute my whole they arrest That I resort just to the lullaby they sing. . At the demise of hopes lunges this voice with a sword, Not to stab me, but the voices that are wrong, And the inert me, it makes less strong, That I have me the strength to quest for my stain a full void. . With no such fertile soil to link my root, Through this voice I tap into morrow's light to blind today's night. © 2019 Bonaventure Onuabuchi |
StatsAuthor![]() Bonaventure OnuabuchiOhaozara, Ebonyi, South East, NigeriaAboutA young writer/poet from Nigeria. Want to know more? Contact me then: more..Writing
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