The fountain Arena

Photo:Twitter Can a child who is born for freedom fly when its wings are out? or can a mother whose stomach had housed a child for 9 months be denied her baby's growth? How then can we enjoy the sensation of freedom when we are caged? This is a quick poem that entangles the mystery of imprisonment and it impact on the live of one who are bond and their infinite desire for freedom. Sitting still on swollen word lips  Hands on-shore and gaze on steels I heard their voracious laughter Cheering my tearful plead In menace  "Set my caged feather to sail" I moan in a voice of unheard harmony Read also the call Lazy bird is only lazy in stillness But potential it will in freedom For her lips will sing harmoniously To everything that breath continuously But in the rings surrounded by white hunters Her bravery is graciously locked In her heart's corners Her stomach craved the tantalizing Spice of freedom recipe  Courting down the lips and racing  teeth Of the difference sloops 

Photo credit: pixel.com When the sun set gently  Under the sky's duvet sweetly, I gazed at the fortune glory of its days Towering my head to console my heavy face; Seeing the soul moulding my fort  Lining in a state of consumed hope Birthed for a prided miracle by past seas. On, I play the squid contest  That seized my panting facade of Mystery debt to soul and dreams, Sending every momentary pleasure onward. I heard this friendly old self saying, "You've walked the part We set together Forcefully, Holding thy fragile heart still You've kept us in the snow-burning abyss  Where all our comfort is rekindled  Either for mystery or a cold bath." Hear self, hear  Give heed to trophy sage; Spice your sour courage aright And Keep your hunted feet onshore. On this twilight scene, I gaze on  To witness the death of a dying sun, And its rising from the suffering rest; When the light was flirt on looted shine Afar and then. Again, I told self in a hush voice Loud enough to

The cold is pampering my gentle skin Piping my seized breath Away from warming snow  As the refrigerator would  To preserve my lacerated bones a stick That race endlessly without a rival My teeth dance naked to an unheard beat Swinging its white crystals in shattered joy Hurrying to glance through all frozen arm  And lukewarm tears which Streams like a foreign guest to my stock body Afflicting my tormented skin anew  Blending every region into an antarctic station Taiwo Ayeni ©2022 Brief analysis Four seasons birth the circle of a year; the summer season, the winter,the autumn or fall and the spring. Each season with their effect on nature and human in its. As for this poem, it concerns itself with the aesthetics and soft pampering of the winter call. The prevailing imagery metamorphosis the visual imagery ( as refrigerator would) and tactile imagery ( pampering my gentle skin ) to recreate the effect of winter chilling that romance the poet skin, "blending every region into an a

photo credit: pxhere.com His still voice awakens our burden mist Out of its overstayed fast Even our weary feet Seized to tarry any yonder without Its masters sitting in His steadfast court Praising our thirsty effort Forth in a glory call READ HELLO AUGUST    His call, Our first sermon harvested from a fertile soil awaiting fetish word Galloping every wasted dream   Panting,           racing,                     praying and seeking Endlessly As our days of sobering is dead And a new gate of patience is here   The glory of our latter Will surely be greater than the former; The gate of our locked seed will be opened For bountiful ripe   Scaling through all uncouth sky Bowing all frustrated honor With royal glamour Setting our light high   Yeshua shall set us all right Pouring on us endlessly His ceaseless light For our brighter glory delight Even forsaken for us to be the elect READ:  SUNDAY MORN     We shall shine

Yesterday we bade July farewell After a long thirty and one days of cleansing Now you are here with us  Looking gallant and feeble  Cooling our lips with your freezy smile Even the water splashes you threw smoothen Our thirsty soil whose pant causes fame Sit oh sit, dear August and soak our feet with bliss  Of melodious Folk comfort with rest and peace  Seized under your chilled fount  Until the passing of the new month Calling gate of perfect symphony our guest Hold with you first fall And second trickling by ripe solo In third feast of heat and chimney And five decor of blue skin Hovering around the earth above Taiwo Ayeni ©2022 Read also Dyslexiod Brief analysis ... When a new month appears, there is always a prayer we make in our silence corner.  And that is, "this new month should be better than the later".   The content of this short read isn't far from this prayer, as the poet tries to plead with the new month (August) to with hold the harshness of the previous mon

The free bird leaps on the back of the wind and floats downstream till the current ends and dips his wings in the orange sun rays and dares to claim the sky. But a bird that stalks down his narrow cage can seldom see through his bars of rage his wings are clipped and his feet are tied so he opens his throat to sing. The caged bird sings with fearful trill of the things unknown but longed for still and his tune is heard on the distant hill for the caged bird sings of freedom The free bird thinks of another breeze and the trade winds soft through the sighing trees and the fat worms waiting on a dawn-bright lawn and he names the sky his own. But a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream his wings are clipped and his feet are tied so he opens his throat to sing The caged bird sings with a fearful trill of things unknown but longed for still and his tune is heard on the distant hill for the caged bird sings of freedom. Read other poetry from this blo

Waiting for a marathon quest; Feasting on every page gallery; Holding up to the wandering gaze  In ecstatic pleasures. Wanting nothing but wit  In its purely refined form undilute. Yet, it all seems like stargazing Forgetfulness another gazing   Guest we've welcomed quietly Even solid relics are now antics I read; you read; we've burnt the night adroitly, When our eyelashes clap tirelessly before resting. How, how can we sail on our utopic cosmos ? How, how can we? How can we manoeuvre our errors quest, When all pathways are made of steel maze; When our sensory power house suffocates, Bleeding floods to cool its tensed nerves. How can we, you unruly child? Now, Let's hold hands no more,  As your romantic journey ends with me. Forgive our unborn treasure Whose pride I've hoped to guide privily From your seductive gaze Till you die in desolate . Ayeni Taiwo ©2022 Read  Previous post  from same poet. Next post Photo credit: pexel