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The Nameless Poem


Wrested narratives,

Rescued from the prison of mental freedom.

Robbed of their embryonic innocence

By the urgent summons of mental itches;


Pearls of cobbled thoughts,

Encased in myelin gossamers,

An annoying entangled mélange.

Faced with a blank white sheet,

Dervish half-formed ideas all crowd forward

Creating a traffic gridlock

Along the labyrinthine byways

Of my cavernous mind;

Foaming a quivering agitated mass of muck.

Pensively they queue on the forehead’s furrow

Jostling for the first to roll

Down the playground slide

Onto the white, virgin canvas.

Pandemonium and chaos clogs

The cerebral highways and byways

Causing considerable time to elapse

Before my brain’s blood is bled

On the white bed

Via the erect artery of my pen.

The inscrutable workings of my labyrinthine mind

Makes me catch the saplings of different shades, lengths and shapes,

A rich tapestry for to weave and create.

Though I got a placid lake for a face,

My head is a busy thoroughfare.

Behind its calm surface

Is a happily tumultuous ecosystem of denizens;

Concepts scrambling for relevance.

I view the world through slits and apertures

Trying to make sense

Of the thoughts that are condensed

And stuck at improbable nodes.

The lode-stone is halved in two;

I bear the load,

(Do I mean the lode?)

Of searching for the stone, my stone,

My rock, the personal mountain I’m born to climb.

To you it seems like wanderlust

I might walk meandering miles,

My feet caked in dust.

But it doesn’t mean I’m lost.


Enyinnaya Alphonsus

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