In What The Wind Says…

Hidden beneath fouling debris
A world searching and searching amiss
Beauty hidden; hidden from all
The wise of a wayward humanity poised for a fall

x

T’is with pain they do discern
The sinners penitent, heaven’s concern
What grace abound and with us remain
Yet, amiss they search, the wise of men

x

Beneath this fouling debris, yea, I know
Awaits His knowledge for the foolish alone
Where we are blind to have our sight given
To behold the grace on that path rising.

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Silhouettes, Endless Silhouettes

Bound by enemies of our dreams
Who frenzy in the chants of their illusion
And gyrate with abandon at the distortion of our goal
Our strains and tears fraught with naught
We tango with silhouettes conjured by wisdom untold

X

Yet, in the confounding womb of time, change awaits
A manifestation of an over labored birth
As brothers, flesh and blood
Feed fat on the catch of ignorance
That has made us all victims of the wise

X
Black is beautiful, we have chanted ourselves hoarse
Kits and kins, lands and rights
We have sold to those applauding our rare wisdom
Once acquired from visions inspired by “spirits and powders of death”
Christened today “dollars and pounds”
X

Time now to wash that scale
From eyes that see silhouettes as goals we seek
Or the peace and freedom of a people blessed to blossom
May stay lost in the stumbles and gropings manipulated
From fatal dark rooms of the whiteman’s usual work place

X

Oh, the light; the light we seek
Harken, hasten and us alight
To dissipate fouling shadows grown from drunken spirits
Of forebears who accompliced distant strangers and man-made gods
To bequeath us with leaders still screwed by the West.

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If I Should Speak

At once it was you
Touched me without touching
Promised without speaking
To a heart that perceived
Its other in your back turned
From pains of yesterday
Of love betrayed
Love raped and dubbed another conquest

X

At once it was you
My hope for love, for friendship
In your eyes, it spoke
In your heart, silence
Yet, I turned to touch
A promise hooded in fears
And teasing at your doorstep

X

Your name has become a song
Your heart, the messiah awaited
With gifts of faithfulness
Here, at your doorstep
No time too long to wait
If at last to your heart I belong
Your embrace, a balm
To soothe, to heal wounds from yesteryears
As today becomes that new life
Of trust and love forever abiding.

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Quiets Quite Quiet

Can I touch you?
Can I see you?
Meditations. Reflections. Revelations…
You tire not with my mind
To which you give eyes, and hands
Ears that perceive the throbs of spirits…
Of your footsteps, even in the rustling of leaves on yonder trees

X

Wings to my thoughts
At your instance, they take flight and soar
Over verdant lands of grace
To the distant frontiers of a coming glory
On these flights, I am left alone
To listen to moments quiet as can be
In the distant coughs of my neighbor’s child

X

O, be with me
These moments, be
When I’m alone to see myself right
My rights and my wrongs taking their turns…
Crowning and chastising when I am most bare
That wisdom may be planted to bear courage
And reveal a man in moments such as these

X

In quiet moments
I’m made a king, a saint
A hero. I change the world
A lonely man, I find a lover
To share this lonely passage life has become
In these quiet moments
I have fetched the voice of God in the very quiet of my soul.

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(c) Utche Okwuosah
Image: Bigstock.com