MOURNING EARTH

                                                      

This poem is inspired by Soyinka’s poem-Dedication for  Moremi-1963

Mourning earth will not placate the mourner’s clump

Hanging like a torrent rain as sediment  of walrus moustache

Binged by tides of mourning earth,

Broken Stalemate arises  to break again ;the trammel of dunghill

metaphors ,

Not the mourner’s heaps and cubicles to salvage fait accompli

A messenger of hell,froth to mesh gaiety of wit with misery

Andperadventure  plodsaplomp morn,

The space of time and nature will not permit muster to moss,

To deny satisfaction of the winds that comes from mourning

And night ,evening and morning grow only as nuisance to themselves

And the soulthat  plunges into the deep is decked , ranching fetid –a

fever pitch ,

It festoons misery and the burning of the flesh –a fingerprint thumbprints

of the pie.

The tide of mourning tides   turns away the tide of morning tides ,

And grief and despair barricading apotheosis,are nothing but strangers

And strangebed fellows of Gordian knots, reef knots and the canyon of

golden morn,

Grief stricken indisposed miens hanging  like the broken reeds of sunny 

Times.

The forest roots interred beneath earth cubicles and the forester soon to

Foreshadow rising biles upon the earth’s lachrymal floor.

Obtuse emotivity ,pent up sobbing eyes ,burning cheeks now hanging

Like torrent rain ,

Burrowed earth is never satisfied nor deadpanned to gulp the deep of the

Biosphere,

Mourner’s clump swollen and bilging like the binding bit ,bills and coos the

mourning tides with the torrents like the seas to the Atlantic ,

The bowls of the mourning earth shot by its archers—the boors of the

boover-boot-lickers,

The pale  maverick , the bohemians and recusant red-cent of the artificial 

misery,  the liveries of borrowed   times,                                           

Mourning earth will not repay its holder with bliss,a sinking sands

Of the apocalypse.

Sunk shores ,mellowed dusk ,claustrophobiac,agoraphobiac  and melded

Sometimes with cantankerous schizophrenia ,

Chargrin and consternation engross burning cheeks and protruding eyes ,

Melancholia and sepulcher in its fiendish feathers  smiles at the catapults ,

Trapped by boohoos ,bone-idled at the eleventh hour by torrent rain to fret

Solace.

Of diaphanous belch ,a wedge round the heart ,a deadweight conundrum

of the psyche,

Wriggling visage texture and its burrowed lines in horror of the bulls ‘eyes –

melancholy,

Spinning round the hewn of smattering lips merrying to jocund its jocular

Jockey,

A neoplasm of the spirit,the soul and body and sclerosis of the mind.

Burning cheeks shred by apathy is food for remorse ,sometimes protracted

On the lips ,

Weary to the soul and sometimes voice like foghorn ,fattens not with the

foggiest bank

A foible of moors,a farrago of sentiments and  a quipped pall of salad days

Re-ignited ,

Sometimes ,it is the gift of nature from the purity of the soul and a benediction

To the mores of the medes and Persia 

How to foam its nebula  till cloister –itself –a hassle for the gods , the bone

marrow ,and a terror gun for emotive sailor.

Rudderless shores coast home fast,banks of sav-oir-faire sunk beneath sea-

Shores,

Trod ding and prodding  on the fossilized sands of the mourning but scorched

earth ,

Crackpots and crackbrained ,unscrewed heads  and  rottened  crabs catching

crab,                    

 Flocking the fickle street like the screeching owl not backwatered by  every terror dent 

To bemuse their fantasy.       

Wail no more and let nature be at the naivety of slavish ado,unleashed  or done to the

Tendons,

Of cantankerous sobbing ,miffed veins tearing apart the bone marrow to 

smithereens;

 Of the swivellers ,snugging  snobbery of camaraderies,from the womb

Of nature ,plainant s’ music turns deaf,

Morning turns not cricket to pay homage to the night and the nature’s

gift ,                                                                                                            

A crevices of the innate ,a  snowball chance in hell ,burgeons like the

eternity’s spring ,                                                   

The chemistry lines in thefaces  intermittently  at the cleft   recumbent of

fleeting pulses

Behold, are  invariably burrowed to mourn  and to deplete pent up catharsis of the

Human psyches,

The seedlings of the spasmodic spanners ,sownand thrown at works .

Gulping the torrents of the burrowed lines as augury of the artesian wells

Of the mourning reservoir ,

Hidden within nature’s plow and heypresto mourning turns skyward wreathed

 With the torrent rains ,and sewer ed cud for solemn hours of penitence ,

Culdesac-ed with the boom town and counterpoise of nocturnal beds

Still yet to emerge from exile,from the galumph of mourning tides,

The mourning tides  will not deny its task-master  and slave trader,

Like a vertigo hurled  to tide in the stormy days ,until the mourner’s

Clump relieves as timely balm and neuro-therapy  ,

That maddening clouds  of smattering and battering lips dancing on the

canvas,

Turpedoed by windy tremor is tinged with no remission ,quested upon

the nature’s gavel ,

The mourning tides  sing to be coronated at the mere volleys of its brisky

darts-forth fire  to blossom its curio as the junketing snick of time ,

As it sings its revels and the  earth dances cloister’s riverie, nature’s

rhythm of rhapsody ,

To ride rough shod ,rough-hewn lugubrious savages ,overwhelms the

Maddening clouds and its curly unkempt of rodomontade,

And the moon and the stars grow only to themselves sarcasm of time.

Mourning earth sings in vile and the tempest of the jockeys not yet a

forlorn mileage of divertimentos,

Scram not away ,secularise wit and read the riddle to debunk conundrum

Of the fossilized sands and cosset  similitude and ados of slavish free traffic ,

Of marooned junk art and maelstromed soldier of fortune ,that pays not where,

Solecism sells solemnity for a free man ,

Of mourning servomechanism  to racketeer,adumbrated tendons cowed to utter ,

Of nocturbedbeds ,cavorting the deafness of absence ,of gilded moors  of fate , in

Trenches ,boored by sarcasm of time ,barned by crumbling earth beneath,

To leaden floors of unborn mornings ,born and jailed in a sunk caisson,

Of forest  and forest land that deny its forester ‘s regalia,solicitude ,though ,

Splendiferous and exuberant, to gavel atonement ,splenetic,splitting and spluttering,

Wails afar off,

And the morning and the evening grow only to themselves sarcasm of time .