GRIEF Poem: Leftside Street, by Idegu Ojonugwa Shadrach

The basins of tears are profoundly tired.
Every inch of an eye drop is fire incarcerated.
Warlords of feelings embattled with embittered.
Emancipating Red Cross of a horde of confidence even in wintered canon.

Enigmatic pity crawls in a picture of the decision to emanate the surviving strength of the vocaless.
Yet a dew sprung for morning hopes while the heavy-hearted weighs factually.

Why would tears reign big in a comfort zone?
Why does it make waves in a calm environment?
Is there an interchange of sorrows in a milky land?
Can good deeds uproot softy dawn of a swamp of horror?
Every length of known discusses abstraction and metaphor of knowledge.
This has remained the most undiagnosed sphere in the lifestyle of ignoramus.
What weign in get more connected to albris of terms.

The horrors of joy lie in abundant wisdom of unknown.

As days mark unconnected songs, the hopes of the vulnerable go down a deep sea like a bird in the middle of the sky – where is a resting space?

So is a life without a direction.

And to rise above everlasting lost in the wilderness, sorrows and horrors must be manipulated for productive lens – where things find respective alliance for allegiance.

There, you might have conquered your fears of living in this scheme of unknown.