We were in the garden of doom
eleven of us with him.
He said we should watch an hour,
an hour that took eternity to elapse.
Praying within boundary of wills,
he poured libation of sweat and blood
to purchase a steering wheel for the soul.
Weakness begged for alternative,
he wasn’t thirsty for the cup,
and it takes strength to submit ego
for the will that breaks your will.
We slept, our eyes were books of tales
heavy with words we cannot speak:
the flesh is a weak spine
to bear the burden of a depressed spirit.
The wind began to mourn our grief,
trees swayed in sobriety;
he betrayed his cheek with kiss
and the testament of blood began.
We scattered like rumours of war
looking for lips to spread.
Is there betrayal without kiss?
Is there crown without cross?
War From Within
I checked my hearts and saw loam
of memories mixed with sticky wishes,
irrigated with drops of momentary tears,
and fertilized with ounce of uncertainties.
Sometimes, we do not know the truth
about what tears us from inside
which opens up in dark surgery
the roots of dreams planted in our hearts.
Sometimes it is not the gallery of dreams;
it is the echoes of solemn songs
we don’t want to break into wind
making lyrics from our arid thoughts.
Sometimes, it is war arraying itself
against the undying warriors of will;
Sometimes it is fear rising
out of the depth of what is loved.
I opened my mouth to speak
but only breath of silence came forth.
I gathered strength and pushed
only to birth an undreamt reality.
Elemide Benjamin is a creative and inspirational writer, with keen interest in personal development and talent coaching. He graduated from Federal University of Abeokuta, Nigeria. He loves God and humanity.