These Flowers You Pluck | Emmanuel Okoro | Poetry

Years of tending a girl to be fit
for a world of defeat. To wear her pride
like a bag full of mysteries
not ready to be revealed
until the day of vows and rings
a night to say goodbye to freedom.

Tears are an umbrella which covers
the shadows of her sight.
This man has bought a free ticket
to a wrestling match. mother sold it.

The world forced it.
with words that can bend a heart
to desire the colour of graves.
If only I could hide my wrinkles
under the sun and knit lies around her.
no one will know the battles I fight
without swords.

The bruises of bare words are weapons
he used to dissect his petal,
after every breaking day.
The last supper he served was an
expectation from the globe,
a trend that will never die.

what completes a grand occasion?
without a mix of emotion
which no magician can foretell.

wealth was her family’s enemy.
she never came close,
always staring from afar,
glaring into their hungry eyes.

These flowers you pluck & poke
are burdens in the heart of a Gardner;
A prayer from Mr perfect to God’s ears,
willing to tend & water a beautiful garden.

These flowers you pluck & destroy
are solutions to the world’s chaos;
a bunch of grace & a fragrance of beauty,
born to chase weevils from the phase of earth.


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