Good poetry writing is an art that has evaded me (Not as a result of not trying, I may add). For as long as I remember, I have wished (and practiced) it to happen but will be the first to admit that I am just not good at it. I can write in simple, plain conversational English but, well, poetry is a lot more than that. You have to be good at poetic rhetorics, figurative expressions, creative imagination and all its sorts, which I just haven’t been able to master.
Anyways, I accept the cup as half full, take what I have and appreciate the works of those who are good at writing real poems. Yesterday, I had the privilege of reading a short poem written by a friend. It was a short and quick scribble but nonetheless, good (Yes, I dare say so). I didn’t want it to go to waste so I decided to put it out here, this way; I get the privilege of showcasing it and achieving durability.
First, I should say to this friend – Sorry I didn’t ask your permission, didn’t what to risk you saying no.
I really hope y’all like and appreciate it as much as I do (Find poem below)
The Soul of a Wounded Heart
Let the rain wash the mud on the clay soil
Love was the cloud and now I wonder how bitter its water tastes.
Fleshly feeling dried by the savour of commitment
Beauty was the deceiver and
Patience brewed our downfall.
As streams of regret drip from my side,
Nostalgia is the city where I love in.
Memories are lanes while,
Moments are the buildings.
You live in all houses,
Only few made homes.
I gasp for help as I drown in my tears
Thoughts run in the track of my head.
Hmm! What a realisation;
Some moments are worthwhile
I wish I could live in them forever.