Integral Value

I AM BLESSED

Then it came to pass
Seeing the disbanded Misty fluid
From a palm, behind the opaque,
Whose altitude, a flying fly can't surpass.

Not a surprise, yet amazed!
By the magnitude of her punch
Piercing through the gold base
Presented!
While dislodging all enclave.

Her power, fertility activated!
Lending prowess to be elevated.

Riding on the wing
Never to be depressed
Even if cut up in a menace
What!?... Can sing
Litany of progress
Having got an access to succeed.

By Aleke Damian Chizoba
© 2020

THE BALANCE

Never lent nor borrowed
How does it smell?– scent of boredom!!!
Every field has uneqilibrium balance
Which never gives one chance
Of enjoying total freedom.
Cut in between this web
A coin, the left, the right
Any choice has the strength to ebb
Wisdom seems to have lost his might
Guess!! Joy, neutral or sorrow
All has the power to choke
And a union with tommorow
Leads a search for the fulcrum
Of this mystic existence.


©2020

LOST VALUE

At the village square
On a sprightly hour of the day
When one can see clear
All bamboo seat have had a guard.

I saw black and grey hair
At different locations,
A count on medal in their store
Of their supposed witness
To the fowl and knife war.

Fowls lying beside the altar,
Which to the gods, are ready for offer.

As a norm, they need not a cup
Seeping their desired drink.
With him, is every man,
A container of wants–which,
A blessing from gods
Must full to the brink.

Again, I saw a man in a winter dress,
And on his hands are beautiful cups,
When he stepped into the square,
Hard to believe, he will be
The one to feed the gods.

With an agenda, of shifting
The ritual to the moonlight hour,
Against their perceived norm.
To every man, he served a bottle of liquor,
Away, their eyes moved from the mirror,
Reflecting their doom.


©2020

BEING HAPPY WITH YOUR LIFE

On gracing this Earth,
The whistle of battle is blown
With unseen warriors to combat,
Man unconsciously, either feels a victim
Leaving on his inner face lines of frown
When his history can't sleep on
Or feel like a Victor
When his black lines are starved
With his destiny feeding fat.

Ridding on this pedal of uncertainty
No one has ever seen tomorrow
Yet excited are many, while
Expecting what tomorrow brings
Submitting themselves
To the hands of sorrow
On getting the envelope.

It takes brevity
Caring less of that
Which one can't control,
Maybe they have to know!
As, that is the only source
Of feeling like a Victor
Instead of being a victim.

TITLE: POT OF GLORY
THEME: THE HILL

Why!...Why!!...Why!!..
Why do they look so different?
Why them at the center table?
Why is their seats placed so high?
Why is their foot-level above others head?
Why is the air freezed by their aroma?
Why is the potter so partial?
Why give only them wine jars?

But wait... Did they use a bait?
And what will it be?
Maybe they charmed him?
I don't think so...He is far above snare

My heart is pained!
They look too close but far away to meet
Being in their circle, my greatest mission
The Potter I must reach!
And ask him some questions.

Oh! You Potter!!
Why!...Why!!...Why!!!...
Why to them alone you gave pots of glory?
Why not give me some?

Oh! You friend!!
Why!...Why!!...Why!!!...
Why do you choose to be in the valley?
Why do you avoid going to the hill?

Answer to your questions lie on the hill
Those you adore, have gone to the hill
A journey to the hill,
A ticket for their friendship,
For there lay pots of glory.

By: Aleke Damian Chizoba
©2020

TITLE: THE COASTAL TREASURE
THEME: LOST DREAM
BY: ALEKE DAMIAN CHIZOBA

I saw a garden without a central tree
Beautified by a never dying light,
That all man will be free
Never to see an awful plight.

Inflated by my emotions
I struck the street in a haste
The joy of having the best solution
Stirred more the hunger for a taste.

Soaked in the emotion
While I move–
Taking notes of the road signs
Was never an option
For in my mind, all is fine

Having sacrificed to the god of rain
I played prodigal–
To the meeting of sun and cloud
Sowing all my seeds at the coastal plain
Anxiously waiting!!!
Overfilled barn would make me proud.

Now the pod is dry
With friends and family gathered
To celebrate it's ta**ry sound
Before the sun could strike
All hope has been shattered

On the eve, the sky turned dark.
And a mighty wind ushered in,
A somber downpour that went Stark
At the ocean abyss, all seed went sleeping.

Then I realized, though hard to cope!
I was just being lyonic at the Atlantic coast.

©Aleke Damian Chizoba
Geoscientist.