Talking Drums

The West African News Magazine

Poets' Corner

Passions Of The Heart

Evil things that lack a hanger,
Appear in ernest to latch
To the silent nerves
Of a watching ear.
Simulating in graceful bits,
The screeching sour peels
Of a pair of brass scissors
Pampering every second,
On my peace.

The seconds are arduous.
They sifter gently,
Through the window pane;
Mingling in tempo,
With my tickling heart.
Abating the spears of sorrow
From the death of my Emilia;
A tear in retrospect.

Three days ago,
This two-sided metal;
Was tearing Emilia's medallions
Of flesh and blood
In gentle perfidy.

I am only dreaming!
That body lay here;
A decade gone.
But my drilling syphones;
The knife at the autopsy,
Did I think,
Rang the second grill.
It was the autopsy;
Of my heart.
That kept this memory alert,
As I lay in pieces
Watching it in regression.

by Akeh-Ugah Ufumaka, 4/9/77

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