LUNAR BLOSSOM

The moon is ripe, lodged in my hands;

Gone now are the days of barren soles.

That which was forgotten now reads the sand

Where at the gilded altar now I stand

I watch the dawn embrace my varnished soul.

The moon is ripe, cupped in my hands..

A thousand bolts can't thwart the wand

And set me adrift, still lost in the shoal.

That which was forgotten, now reads the sand-

But how will they know or understand

That my broken shards now form a whole?

Still the moon is ripe, clasped in my hands:

Let minstrels prance and strike up the band-

For my errant darts have struck their goal.

That which was forgotten, now reads the sand

And the street is raving about my new brand...

My song on every lip - my name on every scroll

For the moon is ripe, lodged in my hands

And that which was forgotten, now reads the sand.

By

Hope Kalé Ewusi

                 PAIN
   
 

That which at a moment's pulse

Would thwart the will, and bid it

Wish or seek the tyrant's hand

While tinsels and plums rot in vain.

Who feels it knows - when smiles turn to brine...

And  scowls  the anguished port would drape

Where from the sun in haste had set  adrift .

Of different shades and tones confirmed:

The sudden stitch - the jab - the stab.....

The lazy rodent gnawing the trunk!

Oh how the maiden she buckles so

While the fruit of life she bears,

And the crowns of men anointed thus

With the load of daily cares!
Though some the bewitching hand may rile-

For life's entangled web of woes,

The bane of such to one resorts,

Who at the creeper's behest, to sin conspired

And the evil eye forth no shame would know;

Her unyielding aspect, our constant foe

Rattling cages, bruising souls down to the bone.......

Our charms and potions she  rendered naught-

The vilest of which no peace accords!

Yet to the faithful succor prevails and hope abides

To all who the promised rapture await

When all that was written will come to pass.

By

Hope Kalé Ewusi ©