BALCONIES OF UNFULFILLED DREAMS The Power of essence lies in willed servitude dad will say, leaning his aged back to our torn sofa; the most glaring testament of penury in the balcony of his unfulfilled dreams. We will watch as he demystifies secrets in notes emanating from snores using several algorithms downloaded from the brain of uncircumcised ghosts. His words were catalysts, enzymes of abstractions which overtime formed behemoths of sagacity in empty cells of our minds Dreams are subtile, only legends accomplish them. he will say this with his pipe cigar pointing to the sky, oozing out whiffs like incense which appeased for our shortcomings to the god of slaps and cords. We could only see a fragment of it's reality dawning on us before he breathed his last. And then we took those words, like a ram held by it's horns, skinned and burnt them alive on the altar of heed, only to see his words producing fruits of excellence in the garden of our dreams
FLYING WITH ONE WING Right before my country's aesthetics got battered by voices from microphones of prophets preaching the gospel of changes(banalities) with the lips of lies, we've heard of men, who once abhorred filthy lucre, hiding mighty gallons of oil which outsizes the waterscapes of the Nile in the bank of greed, We've heard ballads depicting the virtues of Samson's ferocity, his ordination from the womb, the folly in his love and the gambit in Delilah's oomph. We've seen Nebuchadnezzar's whip and the dexterity of it's wrath, drawing designs of maps on the skins of our past, we've also been told of how dames and popes who were honored with a badge of truth later danced to beats resonating from the larynx of demons And as sagacity vehemently suffocate in the armpits of fools, and wits are now considered inferior to imprudence by those we call sages, how then will the signposts of truth be erected on the way to renaissance? who will purchase the ointments of Justice from the streets of sheba, and then ride from the south where thieves and bandits dwell to here and now just to heal the eagle of our nation which now flies with one wing?
Daniel Ezeokeke Is a writer who hails from the ancient city of Anambra State. He sees poetry as a means of escapism from society undergoing decay and degradation. He is currently a graduate from a Nigerian university and loves philosophy, Jewish writings and history.