FEATURE ARTICLE

Augustine C. OhanweThursday, August 21, 2014
chyinaho@yahoo.com


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OSMOSIS (POEM)

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he fiery heat of the noonday
has blown the hell door ajar
and its cadaverous inmates speedily
relocated to the woozy water
near the ancient shrine of my ancestors.
A place where darkness
summons a menagerie of creatures
that leap, slither and buzz.

The new entrants ride the pale horse of death
and chant the litanies of the apocalyptic hymn.
Their souvenirs are bright and brassy daggers
whose blades stream with blood.

Their poetry
is the ear-splitting sound of the gun
with the accent of frightening fatal music of death
whose rhythm is not fit for the dancing feet

Their widen eyes dart malevolent look at the villagers,
a look that evokes vehement terror in the mind,
and suborn them willy-nilly
to partake in the orgy of sacrament of madness
in the silent community of grave yard
where whitened bones carpet the ground,
a ritual that belongs to savage centuries

causing the villagers to convulse with outrage.
And after mathematics of thought,
they do not feel themselves prepossessed
with confidence towards the cross-eyed,
knobby-faced entrants and their odious designs,
as reason and hate cannot dwell side by side,
and the creative sign of love and tolerance is in short supply.
Their welcome will add no glow to their woes.

Like the simmering volcano,
they are ready to burst my village
like a cooked chestnut,
and transform it into a kingdom of shadow
that holds the key of the dogma of eternal night.

And with morbid mind saturated with fear,
the rural folks dispersed in consternation
to spread the mournful news
amidst the wails of children and screams of women
while gloom and doom pervade the misty orb.

And the experience of the deadly days of the news
has drained the villagers to the dregs
and pushed many to a state
of permanent vertiginous somnambulism.

Has the game of the chess
not reached its crescendo,
villagers gone agog
and the media abuzz?

Would the Chief of my village
maintain a sutured silence
and self-induced aphasia
or doff his feathered hat, prostrate,
with his heart and arms wide open

and allow our affirmation
be absorbed by their theorems?
A shallop sways upon the shore
will surely push us back into the lake.

Methinks osmosis is about to occur!

August 20, 2014

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