PLEASE DRAW MY ARMS
There is a little girl that was
A pretty little girl
All that she did was pretty
The little girl she was
The little girl did love to draw
Seated on her pretty table, she drew
One day, she drew a pretty picture
The drawing was of me
The drawing made a pretty picture
The prettiest picture that could be!
Eyes that shone, skin that glowed
The picture looked so real
The little girl, she gave me life
Her pretty wand a pencil
With her magic I could jump,
Skipping through the fields, I made a
pretty sight
One day while I skipped, I tripped and then
I fell
I tried to get up I tried but failed
I called to my maker “Pretty girl where are
you?”
The pretty girl was gone
It was while I struggled, I realised I had
no arms
I was of paper not meant to last
I searched for the pretty girl
I willed her to come. I
My voice made a pretty sound, a pretty
useless sound
The weather turned, the clouds swelled,
soon the rain began
Heavy splashes charged at me
Each droplet tearing my world apart
Once more, I tried calling. My voice, now a
whisper
Pretty girl, little girl, pretty little
girl
Please hear my voice and come to me for
alone I cannot stand
In your haste to create a masterpiece, you
forgot to draw my arms
- July 2003
THESE ARE THE DAYS
These are the days of the prophets
Our counted days on earth
From every corner hear their call
Come and buy my wares
Wealth, redemption or deliverance sold to
the high roller!
Still, these are the days of our prophets
After burning the enemies and their
generations unborn
We fail to ease the hurts of the homeless
waif
On the streets, children hawk themselves
Sidewalks a fort for ‘used’ women
Yet, these are the days of the prophets
From January to December, we watch and we
wait
Humbly we pray eagerly we hope
Salvation lies ahead, forgiveness from the
divine
Last night my brother was shot to death
His crime? He dared to stand still
Yes! These are the days of the prophets
A many churches and prayer houses we build
As many slums, batchers, and alleys we fail
to destroy
In the morning, we are promised a better
tomorrow
In the evening, we sleep with one eye open
Of course, these are the days of the
prophets
- March 2009
Culled
from Sketches Energy (Unpublished)
A
collection of Poems by
Oseyi
Okoh
