PoetrySad Poems

Tell the Calabash

Today is like a brown Calabash painted with no brush of no artist.

It’s learnt to draw the battle line with no pencil this harmattan on itself

See, it’s sailing itself down the river bank. Here, they say dreams come through.

Tell the Calabash
I said no life existed without a designer with a scrub.

Tell the Calabash
I said the battle line it’s drawing is a battle against self.

Tell the Calabash,
I might not be a mariner, but I do speak languages of marine spirits,

Tell the Calabash,
where dreams come through ain’t a place of rest,

Tell the Calabash,
where dreams come through are where tears are saved

Tell the Calabash,
where dreams come through sink the ships that sailed it.

Tell the Calabash,
That she’s a broken half by men’s wickedness and
Shouldn’t sail alone to the river bank until her half I found
Lest she’ll sink.

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