Succor by Nonso Nduanya (Acrylics on card, 2016).
56 •
The Lion King
• October - December 2016
Into the Mist
By Moshood Azeez
They march north, into the mist
The emissaries of Baal
Bearing the shield of the ages
From the gorge on the shores of man
Fear like straws upon the surface flow
Blue-black bloods beclouds the
beneath
The polka-dots skies roundly repose
And the smooth shore sands shakily
scream
Discreetly loud, they trod the path
Wailing high, like the northern owls
Masked in the lights of the aurora
borealis
Casting no shadows
Myopically blending into thinness
Blacker than soot, black as tar
Invisible and invincible,
They march
Like the fiery burning tail of a comet
Leaving a trail of destruction
Like the crushing weight of a meteor
Leaving a gaping hole on impact
The north march of the emissaries
Sweepingly swooned all that mattered
Redefining everything...
Decrescendos
Now, this path leads to nowhere
It used to be a road to somewhere
A once thriving place
In the heart of the continent
Now, it’s all quagmire
Towns, without people
Houses, without inhabitants
Roads, filled with mire
This land is raucously quiet,
Save the sinuous forlorn cries
Reminiscent of the desolates of
Tartarus,
Screams of Hades and spoils of Horus
Gently must tread, who pass
As this road culminates into a cul-de-
sac
And what lies ahead, purely, is black
Into the mist, all have disappeared
Never Knew
By Ajayi Ayomipo
Like ripples of water, you hardly feel it
Like signs of a moving cloud, you
hardly can hear it
Many times with words, other times
mumbling of sounds
Every time I heard, it took it to be just
weird.
I wanted all the chocolates in the
stores, I wanted whatever could be
wanted
Always thought that cosmos was like
a clock that I could turn back at will
Thought it “do it as you please” was
what it all meant
Thought there was nothing with stealth,
Thought it was mere words for those
who had it in.
Mama told me to be still, but I was
indifferent
Never knew that sometimes silence
can be so loud
Never knew that sometimes, even the
breeze has got its own words.
Lines and lines again, borders and
shades,
But what mama sees while she is
standing
Baby can’t see even while climbing
a tree
Not the feel that you can’t explain,
not the bottled,
Not even the opened because only
the person in the shoes can tell when
and where it hurts.
It is sweet to tell that you are my friend,
and even sweeter to say you are my
best.
But when the crown hurts so badly,
only the head wearing it can tell.
Only those in a wrecking ship can tell
how it feels to be in a wreck
Sorry wouldn’t bring back the lost soul,
much less crying over a spilt milk.
It’s safer to heed than to be sorry later
because usually
No wheel is reversible, not the word,
not the hurt,
Never knew this is how it is, never knew
it was time too close.
POETRY & arts
