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| Fredua-Agyeman Nana |
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User votes:   / 1
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Chapter #: 3
Updated On: 02 January 2008 - Words Count: 395 - Number of Reads: 210 |
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Sober Reflections
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Up on the dark rock, found I, my quietude,
Remembering and finding naught but vanity
Beneath the incandescent moon; residing in infinitude
Are thoughts in verdigris creeks life courts;
With vermouth and absinthe for drinking,
Asparagus and lotus for eating,
Weakling thoughts sent my mind clinking
Sounding like a wordless song, but all was wrong;
These thoughts float’d back and forth,
And rising and floating were the thumping thoughts;
Swinging and swaying on gloomy froth
It bursts and the first to emerge were vilest:
From the village was heard shrapnel of shots,
Shots that sent the entire village a-sorrowing-
Children, women, men, were among the lots;
Servomechanic fierce shells into cathedral spires pierce;
Streams of blood drizzled from spheres great
With soughs, and dripped into drier earth that fed them young-
From it they were created: into it they disintegrate,
Though in pain but not in vain;
The soot bearded poet sat, in thought, on the riverbank
Seeing nothing but a crowd of languid dreamers
In bitter unrest. Man’s suffering he scribed in ink blank
Till his soot became white, wrote this poet wight:
“Scouring through my thoughts the city slid in view
Sighting it as an enclave of hopeless swains and foes
Each at each’s throat till they’re left few
Through a hidden hand they couldn’t understand.
After that came a cluster of belching fifty four-legged swines
In an empty harmattan-dressed woodland
Leading a bunch of red-eyed vulpes and felines-
Though in abject hunger they despised anger;
These swines were ravenous
Rooting the soil with the four-feet and snouts
Munching and devouring the part enormous;
(The vulpes and felines followed as emmet in lines)”
The thoughts of the thinking poet faded
From my memory as fast as it had come
And in its place grew a tree unshaded:
The leaves had fallen and the fruits were sullen;
The moribund tree became more pallid;
The sullen fruits over-mellow and dropped;
The roots were all cut and the seed solid-
The dried wrinkled seed would not produce a true-deed.
The life of a fruitful tree was coming to a dread end
An end that would end all things:
The poet’s swines saw them I, moving to richer forests to fend
Whilst the vulpes and felines die in their emmet lines. |
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LITERARY 
