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Poetry
Chioma Iwunze
Someday
Someday is a day yet to become
And yet everyday, someday comes
Its presence so familiarly unfamiliar
We, unknowingly, expect its perfect replica
Seeming much more promising that we
procrastinate
Tomorrow, a precious moment in time,
Which recedes like the rainbow on earth’s
horizon
But hangs around like a friendly ghost
It’s advent announced by midnight’s chime
Its ardent and only holy host
The future sits on fate’s palm
Stretching our hopes limitlessly
For someday is the day our dreams come true
But someday is only fair to the faithful
Everyday is a blessing, and so is someday
Lamentations of the Budding Bard
(Dedicated to my friend, a talented writer,
whose dreams dwindle daily.)
My maker must have filtered a liter of philter
For this art of high honors and harrowingly rare
rewards
Flowing in my blood boiling like quicksilver
Else why is this burning passion etched so
deeply in my heart?
My heart never throbbed so desperately for
anything
My survival never depended so distressingly on
something
But it has become as essential as the air that I
breathe
Painful as the sweet sacrifice of giving birth
To ring my voice out to the noisy world
Like a passionate prophet and be yet ignored
This noble art being the significance of my
existence
Haunts and taunts like pleasurable nuisance
Making me a hopeless addict
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