"This noon" by Mesioye Johnson

Yesterday,

silence squashed the sighing ambiance

that laced innocent tears on weary clouds of gone souls

waiting to host sacred bones between the laps of death

where pleasure oozes from the able scrotum of vacuum.

That night,

dusty dusk of nightmares held by blind breeze

ran into snores and smashed raw dreams

beneath loamy dawn of mirage dug by their parched fate

and strangulated in the cozy hands of countless fiery nights.

But this noon,

smiling sparkles of mournful mornings

ignite the yearning yawns of youthful yesterdays

and quench the thirst of bloody crows with dews

that lay mists of revival on the arid visions of

humanity.

This noon,

the sun no longer heats hatred on black skins

to lick the shattered bloody bones of stillborn breaths

butchered behind cupid corridors of fluttering deceit

with chopped sacred skulls as evidence of her artistry.

This noon,

castrated moments whirl under the dumb clouds

whose eardrums have been punctured by thorny tales

with only the rejuvenating echoes of dead silences

breaking the rigid ribs that caged those hearts –

beating evils.

Alas!

This noon,

rains of poverty would sail sucking souls and their seeds

through the rotten roots of eternal muddy misery

and nail their barren hearts on the cross of hardship

to resurrect with truth in the damp pits of flooding

nemesis.

This noon,

like the pervading shadows of wings in the sky,

flying dirges would freely flap their lingering lyrics

of memories on naked zephyr of darkened moments,

tying powers to the decaying pole of burnt consciences.

This noon,

eclipse would cease to sip our consciousness again

through the lungs of violence controlling our heartbeats,

but buries its veins under impulses of pounding normalcy,

for as peace hovers; wars still break feathers of tranquility.

This noon,

reality shall be the moon consuming voracious nights,

serving its remnants as survival for starving tomorrow.

But this noon will not come if our souls are not gone;

gone to the tomb of life where truth becomes infidel.

Mesioye Johnson is a 300-level student in the Banking and Finance Department (Management Studies) of Federal Polytechnic, Ilaro, Ogun State. A performance poet whose works have featured in Words, Rhymes & Rhythm (WRR), Mesioye was shortlisted among the 10 finalists in the Tony Fernandez International Poetry Competition in 2015.