Nichola Okoro

Liturgy in Cruet I´m a writer and classical musician from Ng


        1
 
Your dream dies before you think it
 
Your hope lies recumbent as the refrain barely begins
 
You get blind when the light is to be your friend
 

 
Happiness in a room beckons on you
 
But it’s the abstract stupid species
 
May happiness never be blissful
 

 
You’ll kill dejection even if you be a prisoner
 
Attitude enslaves you your spouse
 
Your thought sights it an enemy
 

 
Your tears strips you of bliss
 
Your cheeks shall testify for history
 
And in dust utopia is vanquished.
 
2
 
The seven stars of bliss be my chain
 
My reasons free to childlikeness
 
It’s not a world where food suffices
 

 
It’s not a world I count my fingers
 
Not the clouds of turpitude being my rival
 
But metaphysics my only usher
 

 
The science of nature my chaperone
 
The law of exercise that precursor, my espionage
 
Solitude the only friend I have on earth
 

 
Look me on that path the loner never lonely
 
If I became formidable, he instinct of mating
 
Shall I give euthanasia.
 

 
If grace is to be approached, escutcheon calls
 
Euphony of the symphony the apparel of angels
 
And eschatology the scale
 

 
I feel maddened by this idiotic exercise
 
I no longer dream ‘cause they’re ineffective
 
Born again on workaholism just thinking
 

 
My chest dies of heart attack
 
My brains perceives every thing the nose can
 
I lay on the sofa till the morrow dawn
 

 
You pronounce it serenity
 
You define it meticulousness
 
The interim where interludes occur
 

 
You killed the low spirit, but the sun
 
The colourless sun acts as de ja vu
 
The cobwebs in your head makes busy again
 

 
You’ll recall your mien on the altar of banishment
 
On the mien of strangers ‘cause your mind paints
 
You want dream, heroism, to defend the casualties
 

 

 
Isn’t it just a missile that divides necks
 
An iroko tree couldn’t have been felled
 
You jump the drainage when those who sever tread
 

 
Infirmities upon your soul, kneel to supplicate
 
Dear lord, your eyes never slumber ‘cause
 
Nightmares of your deeds spank conscience
 
3
 
Flaccid of dehydrated throat, head
 
The tongue evades the salty liquid
 
Which travels from the eyes enticing the
 

 
You could be a gladiator but you’ve honour
 
You could look like the slave but you’re the warrior
 
Effort of your heart a cistern that teaches you
 

 
Time is troublesome to the pendulum
 
You no longer hear its sound like the belfry
 
But genuflect, gazing the sky like one intoxicated by lust
 

 
Let the earth know this atmosphere of pride
 
Let the earth reveal this natural ninth cloud
 
Earth, your contortion is ironic
 

 
Tell them this age is the first generation
 
Tell them thinkers have their interludes
 
Thinkers, you recall that room you commune with me
 
4
 
You think of honour, the other side of dust
 
You think of spirits, their sonority and mellifluous strain
 
You think of perfection which makes man utopic
 

 
And you think of journey which only suicide
 
Never makes oblivion and you become the cruet
 
And your lip caressing liturgies
 

 
The audience hears you singing with emotion
 
Emotions are respects for memories
 
And you lay down still insinuating the coffin
 

 
You see meadow with awesome greens
 
You se those you ask to await you
 
You have itched to meet spirit guard
 

 
He prostrated handing the olive
 
But embitterness from his function
 
Forced you to suspend him: he sobbed.
 

 
But you can’t be deceived like before
 
You can’t be bequeathed confusion
 
Let the wind play on for the meadow to dance
 

 
Let the wind play on for your refreshment
 
To commensurate. Let mercy be your witness.
 
Let eschatology over rule its recurrence.
 

 

 

All rights belong to its author. It was published on e-Stories.org by demand of Nichola Okoro.
Published on e-Stories.org on 02/02/2009.

 

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