DEATH Poem: DEAR LIFE, by Joseph Ikhenoba

There’s always something on the jaded skies
That thumped the wavy spiral of my balloons
And that is death.
When we shut our lenses behind curtains
And our breath stiffened, our patches rigid
Our lips are stiff, and we can’t smell or touch
That which makes us feel like a living flower.
Ah! The dark oceans cleared when my tower kissed the soil.
He was my breath, always spitting white morsels
Into the potholes of my acidic well.
But he had been suffering from the sharp claws of tumours.
His bark has grown lean, crystal balls sunken,
A chubby self grown into a flabby tassel.
I was always at his four feet boxes
Cuddling the hairy strands of his palms.
On August 25th, 1998, however, the blue skies
Turned into a mirage of dark dust
When he muttered and breathe his last air.
A misty sweat drained through my spines
Flashes of thunderbolts ravaged my circles
Is this how bats and spiders lay on their graves
Fed upon by ravaging vultures?
Ikhenoba,
I guess so.
As I stood at the mound of his dune,
My balloons burst into photons of dust
Knowing that the black sickled Hades has poached,
The encrusted diamonds of my soul.

Author: poetryfest

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