poetryrepairs #196 14.01:004
SAMUEL OSAZE : Aroma of a Burning Bush
SAMUEL OSAZE : Aroma of a Burning Bush, iii and iv
SAMUEL OSAZE : Aroma of a Burning Bush, v
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SAMUEL OSAZE
Aroma of a Burning Bush
That Eve, when rain of my sweat Bed-wetted straps That strung me to the cozy back of a distraught mother, I remember the hurdle, crossing your door When she was indifferent over her flying wrappers saving dignity from the peeking eyes Of hunting men The sliver of a native pot, of a head like an Arabian Lamp Is what held the smell of a wild mixture That fragranced the ribs Restoring the recipes of my life ii I remember: when darts of terror were fired at an ambition, smart as a young frog when we came to knock at your ever open door When you offered spiritual eyes For the kid not to drop its last note, took a spurt to spit on the face of a mould wall In the accent of the gods I remember, You, trotting behind In light and darkness The Wall I take refuge Cast shade of awe round this adopted son I poke the world in the face.
poetryrepairs #196 14.01:004
All the fine arts are species of poetry--Samuel Taylor Coleridge

poetry repairs your heart
even as it splits it open.
VIRGINIA WOOLF
The Art of Reading



SAMUEL OSAZE
Aroma of a Burning Bush, iii and iv
iii Now, my ears are teased Listening to your Taunting song Of a pampered lastborn shattering A dwarfish alluvial vessel That morning when we Walked the narrow road You and me Road, tarred with bare feet Of fertile farmers Road that berthed In-between the legs of your farm iv It was there the aroma of a Burning bush woke An infant's greed For some bush meat Those Doomed to be consumed in wild fire, fire Cheered up, in strength Of zealous songs Sang and Whistled in tone of sweet victory , also Murmured by the matricidal kite I could see above hovering in facetious regret I longed for snails That couldn't scamper, For porcupines whose defiance brought ruin I saw, Anthills laughing Birds weeping for deceased loved ones My wrath is kindled against the inferno that baked your blood to appease the earth for urgent libation
poetryrepairs #196 14.01:004
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SAMUEL OSAZE
Aroma of a Burning Bush, v
v The ashes of your supple souls twirl, Sieving the farm Tipping ashtray upon the bush Graying green grass, trees, Bequeathing me old age Scent of many unknown corpses Buffeted my nostrils, I saw; a sparse swam of bees picking the last baggage from septic elbow of a tree and, this vagabond bird looked on, in an untold misery Stamped on dead head Of a once flourished Palm tree vanquished by man's quest for daily bread Viscous hanging tears blocked vision of neighboring trees, A group of insects dressed in deadly regalia Invoked the nether world in a single file, marched in jubilee In the presence of my Redeemer and Me.
poetryrepairs #196 14.01:004
Poetry endangers the established order
of the soul - Plato

REPAIR: resort, frequent or habitual going; concourse or confluence of people at or in a place; making one's way; to go, betake oneself, to arrive; return to a place; to dwell; to recover, heal, or cure; to renew; to fix to original condition.
-- Oxford English Dictionary

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poetryrepairs #196 14.01:004
SAMUEL OSAZE : Aroma of a Burning Bush
SAMUEL OSAZE : Aroma of a Burning Bush, iii and iv
SAMUEL OSAZE : Aroma of a Burning Bush, v
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