Poets are gods but die like humans.

I stumbled into this poem, I wrote four years ago. It is centered around poets being gods and how sadly immortal they are. The prominent theme of pessimism in the piece poses serious concern and disturbance. It’s appalling in that it depicts the total end of fellow god. Let’s dive into it already.

poets, we are
gods, we are,
We are men and women
who can give life to dead words.

with muted tongues full of ancient wit,
we roar into the deafness of emotions
and rattle the dry bones of wrongs


I see clouds gathering 

               and the sun’s retiring
melancholy lyrics interlude yet another doom
the night; she is the doom

with a cloak of darkness wrap around her bald head
she strip tease the body of a weary scribbler
until his soul is made naked 
and his body unaware
of life
of light
of letters

like a procession of mourners,
this melancholy lyrics assails the departure of a god
stretched on a bed of stones

I see clouds gather and waters clot
as stillness greet the streets with goodbye songs

I see a barren night sky with no glitzy stars
I see royal glamour fading 

I see dust encroaching his orchard of verses

mother earth swallow up a god
in a single gulp
as a PENalty for being born

we, his fellow muted scribblers will keep spooling words
until mortality betrayed us

#Pengician #SSA

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Jaachi Anyatonwu
Jaachi Anyatonwu is a poet, editor, and publisher living in the suburbs of Aba. He is the author of numerous poetry chapbooks and collections, and the Editor-In-Chief of Poemify Publishers Inc. Jaachi is passionate about discovering new voices and mentoring emerging poets. He is also a fierce advocate for the boy child and sexually molested.

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