my only escape[ dedicated to the victims of nyanyan bomb blast]

the ideologies of coma
procreated by totems of the Arabs T.N.T
bouquet at windowside.....
her drift
of skirmishes
that crave becoming of air

this other world
opiate in the eyes
inner self semblance

usurper ladies with claws,
then too weak
for cinders...
powder,
talcum of lotions
adorning fleshly feminism
my tigress
nails battle breed
sustenance in modalities
cultural of African adjudication
she is not completely desolate
but absolutely mesmerizing
hidden in robots that ferry
decapitation in the eruption
of man made thunder lilting

detonation! in fear of a step endangered
floor on the arm, the winds voice corrodes
shocked parts dissemble
a fall from frenzy exerts
this loner now, this casual deed

experiments its extradite never cautions
fodder early soil nutrients forces
part ways storytellers go forth and personify
the enemy, psyche deter whom
rabbis become buzzard to devour the little sprout of reason

fragments chaotic upturned has bridge
lucky to refurbish partial
cosmic-soup other side of post-modernism

reveal clavicle.......... reveal phalanges

horrors.....ballast
then from this trance
she awakes dragoon null
soul tiring, the shock value
of life support

for the death dance
helping the unification of all roads
insomnia of sort asleep

About This Poem

Last Few Words: this poem is taken on my personal observance of seeing a fallen arm after a bomb blast i narrowly escaped. but the poem itself starts by a lady in coma whose soul is now in a scene where a bomb soon will blast. the opiate in the eyes of the woman in coma takes her drowsy to this imaginary scene.in the coma the lady is devoid of affection to adorn herself with cosmetics, when i saw the ladies arm her nails were long being fixed, this of-course explores the themes of the modern day relevance of cosmetics to the cause of inculcating the African woman into modernism. here her actions make her the usurper. next the bomb actually detonates , the people used as experiments of peril, 200 people died with parts scrambled, i could see the bones of the clavicle and the phalanges .now in the poem the lady wakes from the shock of this events but it hardly matters because her mind strays away . a state of coma one cannot communicate, so her trance is neither an insomnia or sleep, i only use this themes to explore the ravaging implication of the ghastly sight i saw . the one who detonated the bomb some rabbi had taken his emotion away and stiffened his reason to commit such a heinous act

Review Request Direction: Is the internal logic consistent?

Review Request Intensity: I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back

Editing Stage: Editing - rough draft

About the Author

Region, Country: Nigeria , abuja

Favorite Poets: christopher okigbo

Comments

yet again

I am not a fan of stifling modernism. breaking tradition should be embraced by cultures as this is cultural evolution. Intolerance is the very fuel that feeds the bombers, they feel justified in their terrorism by modernization. They have contrived indignation toward woman who are "painted, and thus tainted". Somehow less respectable. Now don't get me wrong I know some woman.. and men are vain, and become pompous. But this is a very small percentage of the population. Indeed there are even orthodox people who are just as pompous, and also pious to boot.

In ink,
david

completely your horoscope of

completely your horoscope of horizons on this is totally versatile and i adjunct not in protraction but in semblance of Siamese apostate to such being side, which i totally am engulfed in this tussle Nigeria engages, whats coming out tops at the moment is anarchy and a vandalism of volition caused by religious prelates and imams

not to talk of the culture

not to talk of the culture bridge and tantrum oblivion to the true purpose of culture, what is culture at this stage? modernism or post modernism, what also about those forgone?like for the Africans a slaver of sputum drools in this regard as the "bush hunters" save face moped in dialogue retrospect of their choosing