by Noel Ihebuzor
Confess it and it is yours
and like Thomas, he doubted.
but time, loneliness and hunger conspired
and so with breath heavy and hesitant
He did and it was,
and he remembered your promise
anything you ask in my name, I shall give
He held on to your gift
with strong and firm fists
his heart was a rainbow,
his person a song as the days
flew bye, and the stars sang and every rustling leaf
sang to the chorus of his singing soul
Then the gift slipped through his grasp
Silver through his clenched fists
And his heart leaked
His soul drained, parched
his groan from deep down tore the
Soft curtain of the silence of the night
Should he shout his despair
on the crest of the ZUBA?
Should he mirror the broken spirit
of the savage whose sadness permanently
encrusted on ZUBA Hill incites
the sorrowful and the gay to pity?
And he seeks to soothe his pains with lavish
Portions of potions and balms of forgetting but
remembering becomes more acute the more he gulps and rubs of these
Should he now shout himself hoarse
in rages of hurt and despair?
and in between heaves and deep sobs
he longs for an anaesthesia for this tortured mind
a potion to change this jelly soul to stone
that can feel nothing, and therefore not hurt again
Every night now, he wrestles to release his frame
and his soul from the grips of his overpowering sorrow
mornings in well -rehearsed smiles he repeats
in a hollow and breaking voice
“Thy will be done”
And he breaks as he struggles to manage his pain
5 thoughts on “Short lived gifts”
Wow, Noel. This is faith down to the bones. So beautiful, and such pain, and such joy, and again more pain.
you are spot on again, Susan!
Noel–I love this so much–can I reblog this?
Sure, Susan! Please go ahead! It is my pleasure!
Thank you so very much!