Editor's ChoiceMusingsPoetry

Praise That Has Base

Hands on deck;
Fangs close to neck.
Tempest in teapot;
Life turns to seesaw.
Life offers death in different hues, yet I move.

I ought to rock like my mates do;
I ought to saunter past like sheep in flock
But life has taken me to a height
As high as an iroko tree:
I fear groove.

At that height;
Suspense lengthens.
Breath doesn’t have breadth
But I can measure mine—
I mean its width, with proofs.

Life once tossed me.
It got to a point, I was parched like toast.
Though with wobbly knees,
I still perched
On that height that life offered me as roof.

I climb my hurdles;
It isn’t easy:
I constantly get dizzy.
But, I still trudge ahead painstakingly
Like a horse that has injured its hoof.

Like agama Lizard once told himself
When his kindred mocked him for jumping
Down an iroko tree,
“I will praise myself when no one will,”
I praise myself also even if I am called a goof.

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