THE RACE
Quick it seems as the dew cleared
on the charred road of nowhere
breathing deeply though weary
of the dawn that seems ready
his fast pace seem scary.
The smoke from a burnt house
filled his lungs as he passed
pushing the limits of time
behind as focus becomes a worry
women filled the streets
gently as they file to the stream nearby
to fill their kegs with water for the day.
he passed gently by the stream
tempted to have a taste of it
but the pace of burden is strong
as the distance seems long
he continues of the race
that has to other chase
but a race to finish or diminish.
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THE DANCE OF SADNESS
They danced away the night
Their fight against such willful fright
That such news would never come to spite
Their faces even if sadness has brought them blight
The will the people do possess
Will be what they should profess
Even if they all not want to confess
Their pain will they then address
As if their cry was not in vain
The veiled ones were not sane
Walking across such a lonely lane
They knew it was time to feign their pain
With all their known affliction
They stayed knowing that their conviction
Will only bring hopeless dereliction
As they would never understand our tradition.
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Poems © Efeduma Eseoghene
Image: shareheads via Flickr