wordings of the soul

Mama Natura By Uketui Anthony

POSTED 05/12/2018 14:54
2551 Reads Mama Natura By Uketui Anthony, Poetry on Tushstories
I’m sorry
Your eyes reminds me of mornings’ light,
Glimmering and blinding
Nutritious also,
Almost famished,
A stare enough, I, replenished,
I’m sorry,
Your words reminds me of silence,
Painted white, just whispers and sighs, enhanced with the itches of crickets,
I can’t wait for the evening’s tale, broadcasts and stories engraved on the moon,
Copies sent to the stars, some smoky as a result of meteor rocks,
Winter fast approaching,
All green slowly deteriorates,
Wildlings take shelter, more flame, mud turns white,
No recoil, not shock absorbent,
White shakes off,
Slowly sipping in, its spring,
I’m no rhymer,
I’m just an emphatic writer,
A happy emphatic writer,
Enslaved with a pen,
Encaged in her, to her
Ever enjoying her graceful warmth coupled with her cuddles,
Her meek smiles, and joyous tears,
Come out ye vultures, feed o feed on thy carcass,
Generate buzzes and endless swirls,
By thee winged, swallow thy dead,
Causing rebirth to the worn out trees and plants,
And refined air at its peak, caused by mere waves of thy reborn,
I’m sorry,
Your embrace reminds me of mother’s warmth,
Courteous and passionate,
Almost worn-out,
A feel enough, I, revived,
I’m sorry
Your movements and pace reminds me of peace,
Molded steel, lightened steps, no pattern, not definite,
Utmost respect, bent barks, utmost respect,
I long to see flamingoes on a queue, awaiting their reflection,
To see birds in array warming up the sky,
To feel mothers silk like tears, burning through my bones,
Deaths reciprocate, inverse or whatever occurs,
Fruits alight, seeds disperse,
Green adds on,
Feelings activated, rejuvenation I guess,
I’m no free born,
Tied with twigs and figs to the baobab,
Encaged in her, to her
Frightful of the bee’s sting, the ugly ass vultures
Frightful of the lions roar, and maybe the waters,
Fearful of the turbulent waves and perturbing tides,
Soiled with pure humus or rather an output of clay,
I fear I might crack, I fear I might retain,
Those perturbing waves and turbulent tides,
But she whispered, I felt it,
The leaves spoke to me, happy they seemed, as they danced,
The star, the big yellow one, seemed to stare, happily too,
Light drops trickled down my chin, I had become infected,
Not the common language, they said, in whispers, “sunt mama natura”

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