ON SUNDAY MORNINGS...

On Sunday morning 

Our opium we gather to smoke

To revert back to the bliss

Snatched seven days thence

For there it's on him and not me

On Sunday morning

Let me go lest I be the evil one

Where then is my Purple robe

And Let my hands never lack luster 

Who can wear better? 

In the house of the Lord

Which we have built

We clap to bring Jericho down

While our pride stands erect 

On Sunday afternoon 

We gather before plates of rice 

Who remembers Lazarus at the door?

I do not for he looks to the Crescent Moon

Spirits felt,left aft' noon

On Sunday evening...

Bodies clad in fine silk

Our foots set for the square

To meet those of same ilk

And forget where afore we were

On Sunday night...

I lie and pen this

Seven days hence

Our opiums we will go to smoke

To revert to the bliss 

Written on a Sunday by 

Nnaemeka Ugochukwu 

@IamTheEmeka

 LOVE ME FROM AFAR

 

 

I am Icarus to your sun

I am entranced by your beauty

Singed by the sound of your laughter

Lifted by the weight of your gaze

They say eyes are windows to the heart

Then your heart is a furnace 

For your eyes breathe fire

A fire I long to drown in 

Look into my windows

Into the house I have built for you

Lie on the beds made of silk and Peacock's feather 

And there you shall shame Aphrodite

But when you look,do not come in

For the Book says that she that comes by the windows comes to steal

And my heart remains with me

For I love none but me...

Nnaemeka Ugochukwu 

@IamTheEmeka

TROUBADOUR 

On my way to the funeral of a troubadour 

I came to the place where the road forks

Trees pointed the way but I couldn't be sure

I yearned for a pointer that talks 

Along came a friendly fellow

Greetings I offered but mute he remained 

Anger would have risen but mine stayed mellow

Pointers I must get,all the gods be named 

Which way to the Trobadour's I ask

Grave of visage he became, 

As I placed on him Sisiphus's task

I waited but the words never came

Palm on laps he hit

And foot on floor,a funny rhythm he beat

Eons passed, and Alas,facing left

He pointed right

Ahead I trudged,of left I was sure

For only a weary traveller

Would put his fate on the tongue of a stammerer 

On his way to the funeral of a Troubadour   

Nnaemeka Ugochukwu 

@IamTheEmeka

WELCOME TO MUSE LAND.

Welcome, good people. This is where I will share my thoughts (and yours too if you deign to comment). I will be doing this mainly through poetry and short stories. Articles and essays will also find their way in. Hopefully, you'll join me in this journey.