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You Died: A Poem by Kenneth Nwabuisi

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You died

You died for my sins

committed in the inns

of prostrating limbs.

& blood spills

 

from your side

like a kite

a death in sight

& a warrior’s hindsight

 

The unending grue

of a sky, blue

preached on a pew–

& the screw

tight

 

On the cross of Calvary

The knowledge of an apothecary

a weight you carry

for my sins on a parry.

 

Your blood, pink,

a flowing pint

& a sorrowed tint

to wash away my stint

 

You died

Now I can have life

Because life is a pie

Of a sweet nigh

To console the cry

 

A sinner like me

Worthy not to stand before thee

To make a plea

Or awash in glee

 

I hereby make a recompense

a prayer devoid of sense

a prayer that pierce

through your veil

 

Here I am, undeterred

on the coal tarred

ground, head bowed

bowed before a guard

 

Mary, white and bright

came in tears that night

Your body a blight

of many unresolved, wounded fight

 

You died

on a beautiful Friday

I came that day

to make a pay

to seek atonement for the days

 

I lay in prostrating limbs

with many layers of sins

uncovered and dotted like pins

in stilted mountainous inns

 

A beautiful sight

of a flowing, nostalgic kite

wavering and trembling like my plight

Those days were tight–

 

A childhood,

reminiscent of my priesthood

made prominent in the hood.

Days I wasn’t in the mood

 

to take a look at the pink

blood oozing from the silk

of the many maidens’ unclothed guilt

a sin to be placed in gilt.

 

You died

blood in there

in the bare

streak in your pair

of hands, like the ears of a skittering deer

 

Like two unconsumated lovers lying

under the moonless sky in an inn

the sky a cloudless, sprawling

blue, a merge of white and pink.

 

Leave it there

by your tomb, here

a white veil & the body of a hare

I am lying bare

 

before this tomb, seeking atonement

a solemn endearment

from the inner circle of my ferment

heart, a confluence of penance and abandonment

 

I am standing, looking at the sky, blue

You married to the cross, a grue.

A message I– a priest and pastors preach on the pew

Of the soon departing clouds and the accompanying dew

 

You died

On the cross is a veil

wrapped around your waist, torn at 3, a death

mysterious, your hands flail

& weak hackneyed to a tight screw unpaired.

 

Unbarred, unflinching, unmoving; the angels arrived

on the tomb stones paved

way for your body, unstained

unstinted, unencumbered, moved

 

to heaven. The angers a choir

In my heart a raging fire

of unquenchable hope & trust on your flight.

your departure carrying my prayer high–

 

answered, lifted off my chest.

You are in heaven now to make a request

I’m here on earth waiting for a sign, a pest—

Something to dot the blue sky, my prayer made by a zestful heart.

Has been answered.

I am waiting, I’ll wait, I have waited.

 

Nothing.

 

 

 

 

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