You now dance like a drunken flame
in a broken earthenware pot
now sooty, nourished by a short weak wick
soaked in sleepy sludgy dreg palm oil
You zig and zag in vain
singing like an ogene with a cracked throat,
with a parched throat
like an ogene in pain
rusty and drunk
its voice dying…croaky and groggy, its timbre gone
Your voice now rough grates my ear drums ……
I hear your voice, fading and faint as if from a distance,
Cracked, crackle-less
fleeting and fading
as the distances between us increase,
even as you stand before me…..as I wonder what has really changed…
whether it is your song, or my ears, or the two of us.
Reflections 
This is so sad–when the flames of passion become those of desperation. Such a beautiful and tragic description.
LikeLike
when love dies, and souls drift apart slowly and minds disengage but bodies are still linked and hooked together by hunger, habit and fear of the unknown!
LikeLike
Very nice, felt like I was reading something an African classic. Well done!
LikeLike
Thanks, Boomie! The setting is in Nigeria and I am happy the poem evoked thoughts of Africa!
LikeLike