Sing softly to me
Like the ancient gods
Whispering fate from the sacred mountains
Call on my being
With the wrath of your soft touch
For it is you who tames my dark.
Look through the windows of my soul
Like the sun does the day
Spreading her warm rays across the earth
Drink my disoriented truth
With the curiosity of your seductive eyes
For it is you who claimed my soul.
Disarm my defiant self
Like the moon conquers the bold night
Lighting every street below with her silver glow
Take my waiting lips
With your unmatched burning desire
For it is you who they secretly need.
Feed my hungry spirit
Like the wet monsoon would a parched desert
Soaking up her every grain of sand
Consume my excited body
With endless enchanted caresses
For it is you who calms my turbulence.
beautiful as always
So charming! Suck everything in a unity. Giving birth to an abstract and metaphysical new world where the ego must shut up, or withdraw from reality. Thank you for this pleasure.
Thank you for the kind words. There is always something to look forward to in poetry and the different perspectives spice everything up. I am glad this vibrated something in you :)
You're welcome!
And ya, vibrate. And waiting for the next one with an exciting vibration.
Though I suffer seriously from impostor syndrome, I write. I write in the days when it is nonsense and the days when it is superb. I get rejection emails from journals all the time. Last year, I stopped submitting to journals and only wrote for my steem blog but now I feel the pain of rejection, yet write and submit. So far this year, I have had three acceptances. I am still submitting. I don't know if anyone ever feels like they are good at this writing thing but if it is a part of you, something that gives you joy and power then don't stop doing it. I am a fragile, slender man. This writing gives me the power to make gods and get away with it. So in spite of your emotions entangled in the process, write. There will be days, bad days and days when you will astonish yourself, I guarantee. BTW, this is beautiful poetry. The line consume my excited body is just full. It could be like the way fire consumes or like the way catholics consumes communion. Either way, it is a lovely imagery. 👏
I am yet to submit anything anywhere, there was a time I could've considering that I wasn't well read and sadly believed that I can write indeed. Now, I just write because it's somewhat healing and my selfishness has me wishing to heal.
Thank you for always encouraging me to keep on :)
You know, I was at a book festival last year. During one midnight convo with creatives at a friend's place, I realised how little I knew about literature. I knew no contemporary author aside from those authors like Stephen King, Dan brown, N. K Jemsin, who have made a name for themselves. It was a surprise to see the vast repertoire of works coming out of Africa that I knew nothing about. I could contribute little or nothing to these convos but I listened. I began after leaving the festival, to identify writing that spoke to my Africanness, my identity as a Nigerian,and enjoy them. I began to deliberately read poetry which I never did before, despite my writing it. I began reading about writing. In essence, there always today to start. I am not well read myself. I can't start pulling book titles from my bag of tricks. I don't have the money to buy books despite my hunger for them. But I make do. I read online journals, follow poets on twitter who post each others poems. I am reading poetry by upcoming and published poets, short stories by masters, nonfiction by award winners, essays on writing.
I submit because I have the need to leave some part of me behind. Not because I am the best but because this is a time and one day, some historian will name this time and we will be the embodiment of this time. I contribute my quota to the essence of this time, so that students of history in the future will analyse my contribution and from it judge me, my people, my continent as we too have judged our mothers and fathers.
I fully understand the not knowing African literature. I just started reading it myself. I think/believe that these are the effects of colonisation. The being denied the opportunity to bloom into mastery of this amazing field. We read Sydney Sheldon and others growing up because it is what was available.
The few African authors I read are local and because they lacked poetic and erotic stuff, I never revisited. I am ashamed to know that there were people I would have read then but then again, books are expensive.
I look forward to getting myself where you are. A place of total freedom in terms of submitting my work. For the moment tho, I will continue with the how to write lessons :)
This is truth, the books available to us are mostly foreign authors and indeed books are expensive.
I am still on the journey of learning. It is the only way to be better and to find the voice I so much desire. I still get the impostor syndrome whenever I submit a piece. It's a process of self validation.
The lessons is the beginning. After all, just three years ago, I could only post on my Facebook wall.