JD (4th of march 1994 / Accra)

To Blackness

I had been poached by the blackness of his eyes,
The reflection was bitter upon my tongue and ear,
Fainting before the breathlessness of dreams lies
Tears soon became ink, flesh ran smooth, the seer
Saw beyond the heart, the mirror of love and strife;
So I was the pupil within a pupil, the teacher of life.

I was birthed into a world of shadows and intellect,
Where beauty was given a name and love reigned
Into a charade of meaning, queue and timed respect;
Yet those shadows had claimed the flesh and stained
Mirrors that scathed tips of hairs on necks and breath,
Clouds of opalescent dust, only forgotten in their death.

I am not a shadow, nor a mirror or an active being,
Many times I am clenched by the light of light's absence
Indulging on the lack of sense, or moral beckoning
That shrivels children's ears and fills holes of void immense;
But this is merely a freckle, a bleeding star of darkness
That sustains itself from a heart's past, the presence sustenance.

I will no longer arch sensitive pathways for another's step,
Even if their heels are slit or the cushion weeps feathers
For my throat bears no fruit, nor a phospher mould inept
Of burning in the eye of isolation. People are dark tethers,
I have made them in my mind, I rehearse hymns and plays
That will never see darkness, but live there, in forgotten days.

I know of cures from natures intelligence, the rumination
Of a gambling man, of a child who lives on less than than,
The black rapids in my veins began to breath in meditation
And I witnessed the universe through a pinhole, a wasted tan,
Too deep in it's basking, it's learning. My breathless corpse, I will rejoice!
Is there a form of a lie, a dark truth, through this poet's rhyme and voice?

I lived a second, a second life of halos and dry slough
That served as common, slithering ringlets in my hair,
Where the flesh flew like the sparkling feathers of a crow,
The idle man's beauty, the poet's beauty, the poet's despair;
I had renounced the dualities as one and retreated to black
Where I saw no more, saw more in all, in a scar, in a pavements crack.

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Comments (2)

Nights in the day darkness and mistakes, our sins like cutting grasses pulled together by the rake. One of the best opening lines ever, John. A great poem.
Tanx for ur advice