A Busy Ferry
Oh my heart where can you moored a dugout
on the bank of your river? A bow
that can’t wait in the anchorage every moment
you stretch your legs it slackens its grip
on you like a granny knot and gives itself to every
tar when you turn back to the waterside,
its hull nowhere to be seen in the moorage, as if
it’s not your pleasure boat and you won’t
say it has no spine and often acts like a busy ferry
in your brief absence going back and forth
chasing a soul mate like a bee running after a nectar.
Hiroshima
It seem like that night you would die childless
when the morning came, you were heavy with hope
even though, it seem like no stone would sprout from your womb,
tears spilled from your iris, you looked forward
and faced the deadly consequence bravely
so strong enough to rise from your cold ashes,
from your history I learn to forgive,
from your wreckages I learn to appreciate the olive branch,
from your ache I learn to loathe war.
Peace lily
Peace lily, a gentle flower I admire
her serenity in the midst of so much chaos
always troubled by a reek of violence. The smell
that spells more trouble and gives a big clap of thunder
to pinch a piece of joy and a peace of mind. As her lily-white
clashes with rubicund. She’s more zephyr than a whirlwind
and bring a sun to people’s faces and always oozes forgiveness
her presence commands respect, it doesn’t kill her to apologize,
perhaps that’s what keeps her calm. She never bears any grudge
against any wasp that stung her and knows deep down the bees
that pricked her peace with needles and pins thinking it’s a balloon
she won’t burst. She’s got the muscle to dissolve any growing tensions.
Bionote
Peace lily, a gentle flower I admire
her serenity in the midst of so much chaos
always troubled by a reek of violence. The smell
that spells more trouble and gives a big clap of thunder
to pinch a piece of joy and a peace of mind. As her lily-white
clashes with rubicund. She’s more zephyr than a whirlwind
and bring a sun to people’s faces and always oozes forgiveness
her presence commands respect, it doesn’t kill her to apologize,
perhaps that’s what keeps her calm. She never bears any grudge
against any wasp that stung her and knows deep down the bees
that pricked her peace with needles and pins thinking it’s a balloon
she won’t burst. She’s got the muscle to dissolve any growing tensions.
Bionote
Lucas Zulu poet, editor and publisher currently compiling An Anthology of Transportation Poems, Tarifi Pess, South Africa. His work is widely published in Africa as well as in United States of America, United Kingdom, and India you can write to him at Lucas.de.zulu@outlook.com
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