Poetry

‘Bleak: The place of plagues’ and other poems by Okpeta, Gideon Iching

By: Okpeta, Gideon Iching

Bleak: The place of plagues

And i saw a forlorn of plague, at the
depth of the dessert
And men under eaves kvetching
in awe with voices of lamentation.
A hard time I have seen it.
Indeed hell has decided a visit on
the earth with massacre,
the earth a bloodbath field!
Drums of plagues, streams of bitten
holocaust flow through temperate valleys
from the coast.
Then, i received a leap through the
dessert to the fountain of life,
where nemesis met to shake hands
with bleaks.
I gazed at the foliages, and the falling
spines of a cactus vegetation
in twisted tunnels, still gnashing
teeth
waiting for the redeemer to salvage the
dying folks.
And yet another melancholia,
the folly of Erudite whose sophistry
is bitten by dust.
And a hand delved archives of history
for a sturdy weapon to wipe humanity
like the visit of plagues upon Egypt.
Our wrongs in cyclic meeting
are considered before dreadful
dilemmas.
As they waited under eaves in suspense
wishing
the bill is passed in man’s favour
unnoticed when things fell apart
in anger.
And the earth, now a brook filled with
drawn bodies
as angels of light ascended to heaven
with saints in white clothings.
Those who bore their plagues.

###

No silver bullets: The unending war

The earth is a battle field, where
dead is a feast for the stout
and blood, shared upon birth.
The blood of wusses.
where is the place for the frail,
maybe in the den of shellacking.
With cuirass, they die like Achilles.
Survival is tantamount to every
being:
The strong prey upon the effete,
the weakling get inured to the rigors
And they get together as though of
equal yoke.
Stronger they are together than
at loggerheads!
Yet bullets from the field, on
the scene hit the wimp,

leave upheavals amid genealogy.
Now the case, inability to sync magnanimity
with hearts of humanity,
the worst war unending.

###


A Dale of History

And history is told to posterity
a tale shared in the wisdom
of ancestors;a tutor that
owes root to loin.
It said:Man came from wood,
a decayed iroko exhumed him before
passing on in fire;
man is a product of landed gentry
from the sky, a ghost hunting lizards
unconsciously drove his spirit away
far beyond death.
History told in moonlight ,―
a brisk of chronicles!
Hope that you may understand.
What can history of men in
quaking caves,
in lion-guarded dens
do to the painting of destiny;
Would it wake hope to live,
that is seized by lions?
It reminds of the past, all
history:
The adventures of heroes, the
skirmish of heroins
who sole happiness for freedom
and bought liberty with unfeigned piety.

###

Okpeta, Gideon Iching is a poet, and Essayist . He’s a Nigerian. He is a contributing writer for Joshuastruth magazine JT MAG), and crispng.com. His work has appeared at pondersavant. Recently, his work has been considered for inclusion in the second issue of words and whispers journal. At his spare time, he writes and plays the keyboard.

Categories: Poetry

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