A Belt for Closed Doors

A wakefield of bloomed blades sparks of open holes…

Feelings caked in sharpened beliefs blend into silver,

With each feather-bound embrace, madness sprouts

A gliding kerchief canopies,

Blisters revolve around bars,

Voices eat at the debris, the altar a belt for closed doors…

———–

For Blocks Tethered to the Sky

A falling bamboo shoots stars up at heaven.

Tyres fly wires at outstretched bags.

In a flame-eating bar, liquor is a synonym for memory,

And every service is a roasted plate,

In this well of concern another frog jumps as nuts redo the early wake.

Still, the cracks at the beginning eat the mind,

Like a feast for roosters what grows tall is devoured,

An awakening is a cloud closed and second chances bloom late.

Six calls, an angled stick for blocks tethered to the sky…

———–

Poems: Okolo Chinua

Image: 2219324 via Pixabay (modifed)