CONFUSION~by Tukur Loba Ridwan

 

 

CONFUSION

•
‘what
would
you
do
when you do not know
what
to
do?’,
. . .this is the question mark that repeats itself
in the pages of pensive silence
when the world has become
a w i n d
for your burning embers. . .
this is not a poem for the well fed,
but for the constricted bowels upon the pressure
of penury. . .
some throats are oases of droughts
with
d
r
o
p
s
of hunger leaking down the guts
like a rain down the grave
when we are the dying torrents
in this living summer. . .
hmn. . .
someone said help comes from above. . .
one truth!
another said heavens help those who help themselves. . .
another truth!
now,
these two truths
has blurred the line into a confusing sight
for those who had spent years helping themselves
without the sight of a bright hand
until they had to give up
when they choose not to die in the struggle
as there was no one to inherit their soils of toils. . .
as if it was a curse till the sixth-generation,
or the so-called blessing in disguise. . .
perhaps, the hands from above are invisible
like the type in mystery tales. . .
and now,
what is the difference
between a heaven in slumber
when the earthlings were restless under the sun,
and the one that stays awake
when giving up was not the worst choice?
confusion is now the unwanted fetus that must not go
un-aborted. . .
these are the words in the ears of a drunkard
after hearing the question from a sober bard. . .
without a voice of answers.
but help comes from the heavens
only if they themselves would never be helpless
in the obscure faces of questions left unanswered
for confused years full of confusing folds
of days in confusion
because, heavens help those who help themselves. . .
but,
what
would
you
do
when you do not know
what
to
do?
and the heavens bask in their sleep
like the eyelids of the night with lashes of shiny stars. . .
this is the height of confusion
and someone is this confused.
•
O’real © 2016