By Chukwujekwu Nweke
Before these
sacred groves
Darkness
gathers to keep trysts;
Silence
re-echoes in this cold labyrinth
And belches in
feeble innocence
Over this
celestial horizon
Where earthen
vessels are borne
On the
shoulders of strangeness!
Dark winds
whirl by, rustling,
In spontaneous
emergence
Bearing hearths
weaved with blood.
Anthills rage
in chaotic melancholy
Rummaging and
splashing the jaws
Of earth;
tossing up carcasses
In shreds and
in deepening gloom.
Marauding
myriads of vultures
Your freshness
waiting to ruminate;
Feeding on that
sacredness
Ever for me
preserved.
The gold has
rusted;
And the spring
from which
I sip now
astray gone.
The music
remains silent
And the
drumbeat echoes no more.
Coldness folds
me in his fingerless arms
As here emerge
mounds
Interlocked
with wild rumpled faces;
And grave ruins
of muted hearts.
Here, in this
cold crypts,
Nature has
belched thee
Where mortality
abounds no more.
