Two poems by Aaron Blackie, Nigeria

 Lyrics Of Trial 

( Chronicles Of The Mountain Climber)

I thought I had my feet, firmed

On the podium of progress...

Until I stumbled

On the swinging slab

Of trial...

And I was left

The wandering climber,

Yearning for

The eluding ladder of clarity

Trial is that unwavering

Measure for re-positioning!

I thought I knew the cause,

Until I walked

To the bank of trial...

And suddenly

It was like swimming along

The novices' stream... Trial

Is like a waterfall:

All that flows along, streamlined

To its plunging!

I thought I was inclined

To the pathways

On to destiny's hills...

Until momentarily, trial

Reclined me...

Oh, am I a season dawn for

The endless beginnings?

Trial is a tamer

Of the impetuous spirit!

I thought I had sang

Of the titillating tune,

Riding on the crest of a glory

Worth rollicking...

Until the song played back

On me, yielding

To a scrutiny;

Surrendering to a voice- balancing

Test...

Trail is the reassuring sign-post,

Along the waverly roads,

Doggedly followed...

I thought the Frankenstein

Debacle was tamed

Many years ago and wisdom of the

Wise have confided it

Into a resting place...

But the mystery of the monster is

Blowing the dust of

Resurging obduracy into my

Bewildered eyes!

Trial is how the monster must not...

In the NEIGHBORHOOD!

I thought I am free at last!

Cultured to the symphonic

Colouration of the territory

Of the mind... But stubbornly

Programmed Caterpillars

Ruffled my highly priced

Space in destiny mainland...

Caterpillars I must swallowed

With the open-mouthed

Rattling of my unbroken spirit...

For I am not the offspring

Of a greater BEING?

Holding on,

Reaching out to the next climb

With tentacles

Sharpened by the bumpy

Contours of the rugged roads...

Surely,

The palms that will not

Of bumps, of blisters withdrawn,

Will from the oasis on

The crests of the dessert mountains,

Drink the water of refreshments

Surging out of the orifice of the

ETERNAL...  

 

💢💢💢💢💢

 

Freedom Cries 

 

Freedom cries out of

The

Suburbs;

Out of the silent villages,

Out

Of the maddening

Cities...

She cries,

With shrilling voice

Sharper than

Two-edged sword,

Out of the Highlands, out

of

The lowlands,

The inner circles...

She mourned

for her children... Through

The pathways,

the Highways, and

The bypasses...

In her tears-soaked face,

She asked,

"Where are my dwelling

Places?

And what are the colours

Of my spaces?

I am not the alluring

Queen fashioned

For the closed doors...

For

The best things in life

Spring

Out of my peaceable

Realms...

And on whose farmlands

Would my

Destiny flourished

And blossomed,

As promised,

Like the palm tree, oh,

sons and

Daughters of my womb...?"

"Freedom is within you-- the

Inherent territory...The

Colours of your spaces

Are within your walls

For the painting...", a

Roaring

Voice, reassured...

"To whom then are these

Guarranteed?"

Freedom cries... "To

Men

On clandestine boots,

Eager to build

Blood-soaked

Bridges

With the anguishing

Tears of

The Innocents?

To whom do I turn to

For the lasting strides on

My allotted

Spaces on mother

Earth...?

Oh, to the STRONGMEN

Resting on Delilah's lap?

Or the spineless kings in

High places,

Under the grip of

Devious Jezebels...?

Or the self- centered

Ravens, trading my

Spaces for the highest

Bidders?

Oh, I see it on the horizon:

The MYSTERY

Beyond the labyrinth Islands

Is on the piping!"

Two things are certain

And

Much more:

Wherever my loins breed

In peace,

Many more

Are the gifts of the

Returns...

The mastery of time

would not be

Ours to tame...When

The

Colours of our spaces

Are

In the clutch of

Others to

Paint--The

Good of the

Enchroaching

Invaders...