HATE NOT THE POEM, NEITHER THE POET

If my simile is as dry as the dust of Sahara,
Don’t pour your Atlantic word to make it wet,
My words seem to be a walking sun?
Don’t abuse them; I’m only using metaphor well.

I might write my words to be a town;
A city, or a Continent with broad shoulders,
I’m not confused, I just love personification
Don’t attack the work with your verbal bow.

My poem might contain some sort of sarcasm,
Falling from a tree is indeed a beautiful fall,
Breaking a bone is sweeter than breaking bread,
Don’t see me as a lost man in the city of words,
I’m just making use of the figure of speech.
I might have appeared to be a wise fool in poetry,
I am not foolish, oxymoron makes me write that.

If I tell you I’ve moved my leg a trillion times,
Call me not a lair; it’s a hyperbolic term,
The same way I’ve called money a million times, Before I finally became a millionaire.

I might have played the role of Romeo with poetry,
Forgive me; it’s just an allusion to the great.
Don’t judge my word based on the wordings,
For I was human before I became a poet,
And words existed before I wrote my poem.


Written by Oyawale Olabode
olatomibhone@gmail.com


 

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