A rose flower ran over spikes
under the running halcyon stream
the squirrels chirp their ways
through holes and divergent creoles
the deer stands hand akimbo
a shot of furtive glances
at the oncoming predator
as the night crumbles into mountains
the tiger’s maw gripping leaves
and sands and granites
chaffs and mist scent of after rain soot
the grim reaper pierces the sun
clamps down on the flow of fate
a diamond returns to the rough
the derelicts have come to the station
of grief and lonesome indulgences
mouths backstroking unnamed places
turgid eyeballs loop over grumpy skulls
here is the lot of men
for a token of life not given
a basket of jeers
and cackles of regrets
siting a fork in the road
we plumb the footpath
curved in the brambles
Aremu Olatunde is a performance poet , and editor and a voracious reader. He straddles investment strategy and wandering around his thoughts.
