The Grandeur Of Confusion

The Grandeur Of Confusion

Stranded am I half-coast a great city

A conurbation of which am not an Inuit

Looking back . . . I see a set of footprints

The heavy downpours have come . . . washed off my sand prints

And the ravens also came . . . stolen their memories off my still-hands

The city’ map seems blank to my eyes, and my understanding is a head-fall

Therefore I racked my head . . . but my strikes are too languid to crumble my brain wall

Cold-still, brain-drained and drenched in self pity I stand

Acknowledging to myself . . . “am confused”

A slave looks into the eyes of his slaver

And speaks deep in his soul . . . “like a flag I will flutter someday”

How is it he desires not to fight like Luther?

He is a student who adopts sleep like a sloth and despises to read like Achebe

And still he dreams to be the best in his grade

I put it to you . . . the chains are off his feet and have crawled to brain

I will whisper it to his ears . . . “you are confused”

“Emily is such a virtuous lady” they say . . . truly her kind doesn’t exist

But the stains of her message to her brother’ head still persist

And fresh in my memory is the gory reflection of skull soaked in pool of blood

It amuses me when the court finds her innocent of a crime . . . my Lord

The church which preach . . . “wages of sin is death”

Bestowed unto her a gift of eternal life in “Him”

Am in no position to condemn their stand

But can I say . . . “they are confused”

Brethren! See! They are doctors . . . concerned in life-saving actions

And yet He! Collects Naira from her habitually . . . for abortions!

I enquire . . . Does He deserve to be called . . . a skilled doctor?

Or rather . . . a death vector

Decide your stand now or face my judgmental heart

Even the Devil . . . the father of confusion can tell apart

I therefore apologize if I said erroneous things

But that doesn’t change your state . . . “confused man”

Have you heard a hungry man complain?

He needs not hide his foolishness in heart . . . it just comes plain

He will say . . . my paunch is bare and I yearn to feed

But am not all set to make fire to bake bread

Have you also heard a lethargic man talk of the future

His words are illusion and “myopism” is his nature

He will forever want to soar in life

But the warmth of his bed he can never immolate to strife

Who can I say is better amongst them?

My lads let me tell you . . . “they are both very confused”


A man once told to be a journalist of great moral fibre . . . and truth was his watchword

Wrote a column on me . . . crammed with fiction and falsehood . . . was damn awkward

Who then are you . . . to flash that card of yours?

And think I trust you to be pure

Take your damned soul for purification at your God’ feet

Then you can write on my sinful feat

Oh! You lack the basic ken of what your duty entails

Let me tell . . . “confused swindler”

Hostility is my best attire to my entire guests

And I call myself a receptionist

Or a night guard . . . Whose eyes battle to stay alive?

When the evil of dark lurks

Am I not confused?

My status as a man is not far off “confusion”

Take this to heart you which dwell amongst them

The more you look . . . the less you value their deeds

And the less you look . . . too much knowledge you let go

Stay steadfast and watch in symmetry

The beauty of minds unfurl

“This is the beauty of man’s mind”


One thought on “The Grandeur Of Confusion” by TheOnkanwe (@clintonmena)

  1. This is nice
    like sweet spice
    but a better structure
    is possible to reduce poetic fracture

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