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POEMS: Inmates of time

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By Prof Victor Uzodinma Chukwuma

5. At the Point

The people will fumble,

And there will be tempest,

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Then the gods will fumble,

And there will be fire; not just fire but fire.

This is the point,

Reality steps thrown,

Then the soul’s threshold yields,

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The flesh rips off the bone, then the effervescent fog.

Our shadows will take another posture between echoes,

This is the maiden death of body and soul.

And before the lingering land,

Gods and people will share the blame.

6. Tempest

If am told to look,

I will not look again.

Throngs of blood

Rainbow the tempest clouds.

Rain, hot rain from

Clouds of blood

Set to cascade not far

Onto the torn mid-day; up there they wait.

I won’t look again

The eyes will be dripped blind

By molten steel

From Beelzebub’s hearths;

The water that will

Cool these,

Stakes in vain its soul.

I mourn;

Sack cloths and morning cries,

Hearts of now-causalities

 Are the sirens of the dawning end.             

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