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Wednesday night, Thursday mourning by Bulumko Nyamezele

Bulumko Nyamezele | January 28th, 2018 | poetry | No Comments

Poem

the demons will be the last line of defense
when angels’ wings are too worn down
to blow the fires out

so I let the flames in
welcome the heavy smoke through my crooked nostrils
my ears wail when my heart pumps lava into my veins,
welding muscle to bone and fear to existence
I feel my exhausted lungs morph into furnaces, noisy and rusty as sweat turns into oil and joints break down to cogs

this, broken ribs and bloody fists, is not all that I know
but I’m great at it
great at breaking down on my own terms
that’s why pandemonium sounds more like home
and death feels more like a throne

yet I wake up again
an heir to my father’s blind storms
meditating with my mother’s mood as mudras
I wish the wind could wage war forever
the calm only serves to reveal the wounds
I thought I lost when my current state
of being stirred up my emotional waves.

Poet Bio

I write sometimes.

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