Burning Gardens and Broken Waterfalls
David Obasan
Part 1
there are stories of a man with eyes of crimson fire
a flickering desire fuelled by his quest for true power
glares of gluttony those eyes know no rest
for what he truly craves is for the world to finally kneel at his behest,
to ignite this flame in his chest
so those eyes began to search…
then they set
and in the eleventh hour he came to her
and by the twelfth hour he’d left,
the man had laid waste to another’s garden of green,
he trampled and he stole
in the same fields he once swore to protect
and now burned away are the flowers of her soul, a part of her has died
buried in the graveyard that her backyard once was, cos’
those promises were emptied and it’s glass had long been cracked,
filled instead with a bleeding baseless belief that he has a right to a sovereignty
bestowed unto him by the universe’s deities
that whatever he desired was to be,
but was this truly strong?
he says its his right, right?
and besides, when has man ever been wrong
Part 2
there are stories of a man whose body hums blue when the moon comes out
tall like a monolith of pure obsidian that will never crumble nor tear
no he never fears,
he’s always prepared to face the darkness of the night when the nightmares attack
and like the tide because no matter how much gravity is weighing him down he always rises back.
but just one day, one day when he sinks too far
those blue hues bruises that never fade
serve as a constant reminder of his own suffering
his pain which he hid away
but the shape of that bullet was the key and those floodgates opened anyway
then in those silent cries no tears will flow
tears that could spring life to new questions like ‘are you okay?’, ‘ how was ur day?’ or ‘do you sleep well at night?’
which he refuses to remain the man he was destined to be
bestowed unto him by the universe’s deities
and finally when those waves decide to claim him
he’ll be surprised to find himself drowning
a man believes it’s his right to decide who you should be
what you should wear
or whether or not you must bear witness as he takes what’s most sacred to you,
trampling the flowers in the garden you’ve spent your afternoons nurturing
so I find it rather ironic that as a man must rule with an iron fist another must keep his emotions locked in an iron cage all
bar from rage.
yet both are still trapped, under the guise of ‘real masculinity’
and both play a part in this cycle of hate