HATE NOT THE POEM, NEITHER THE POET

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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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