I Poem by Adeosun Olamide

My eyes, deceit me no further
Art me what is- is to come, that cometh
By life we know death, sorrow
A grave perhaps, a fire still or some joy
And by beauty, smile- we know wrinkles
But between the rust, my eyes- further
Deeper beholding- a feet, its decay-
In its marriage to earth
See! My fleshes too, see- they wear
And whereat, I the desert crawled
And whereupon, I the hills to watch
Till my eyes bare, bear- its own cloud
Or of the illusions that follow
Ah, angels bear shadows, darkly-
Ah, is the sun golden or rusted?
Ah, is the wind poisoned?
Ah, to the miscarriages of the clouds
That deforms its angst into sorrow
And ah, souls like the roses,
That blooms best withers quick
And those that fill their mien with warmth
Seduces the cold, O corpse
-And what we with dead or murdered roses?
Our breath sucks in their scent
And in while shall withstand not
The shriveled corpse or its odor
But art! My flesh too, they wear
And my clock ceaseth not
Art my eyes, to plain -that cometh!
To some roses alluring, toxic thus bides
And in some bosom, some hollow dwells
And in some thighs, some malady, trap
O fair- that art me cautious
That put from death gently waiting,
-Strolling, between here and heavens corridor
O fair the fear that art me so,
O fair, bringing the- hushed hideous out
Like in the music of the nightingale
Or in a rusted sun deceit in gold
Or more in you, the hush of stormy souls
But you, the heaven, the hell do know the sourest truth
That your scorns masked in deceit do lure-of us
That where ship sails, the journey to wreck
That within the journey is life, the storm is thrill
And within that last exhaustion is fulfillment
But O sailor, old sailor- infant in grave denial rear
That there is yet blood inside of,
As to wreck, to pieces, to dust stirs
Telling rust dost come all, even unused
And dust, the true color of all comes rearing
But it betters the wreck, the pieces that offer

And I, staying indoors- afraid it may rain
Eating not- so don't fart
Afraid the blighted roses that- yet blooms
In my theater, curtained by webs
-The torn curtains brings to ruin
And to end it ever echoes the seen-
That on this set yet reflects- lured still
As the dark -drifts away I the door agape
Breaking walls, I am casted to rocks
And coming out- unseen and avoided
I the gaze beseech, the mockery hive
O woe, the guts that art me here, o woe
But fair the fear that art me cautious
O fair, the embrace ever open,
And further deep puts me from thy reaches
Thy reaches- woe, error, woe, shame
To settle in shadows and art in choruses,
Unending rehearsals that saves,
My rescuer from thee, woe- your reaches
O fair a messiah, brings me a mirror-
And re-echoes how, the smile, its length
The way my lips should stir, folds, my face
Re-echoing_ pace, the rhythm body must dwell
How much my eye_ needs seen?
And contemplating so the responses
-To gestures that may come
I seat, dwelling in the wrong that may come
Contemplating all through the night
Remaining in the shadows,
Where no shame, wrong can thrust
Where eye mine can deceit no further