Posted by ISIOMA ISICHEI on
Child, when you are old and sagging
In the breasts and your back is strained
And bent from toils of moisture over the
Years when the cloud is in slow journey
And blank the air of iridescent colours,
Look at my weary face and see poetry
Written in the contours of oldness from my
Breathe, in the dim of my eyes and the cotton grey
Wisdom of my hairs.
Look at my once fleshy cheeks, my once
Smooth edge now roughened by the dust of
Age, by the blow of time when the clock is ticking
Though I am young; young and brimming
Up to the face of sky like fire inferno and
From the strength of young, the myth of youth,
I tender the stalk and crack the nuts.
Remnants of skull will bring home mythical
Flesh away from the vultures of rust
That hover above-claws into garbage
Before an owl will hoot; perch
Behind your doorpost.