Emmanuel Uwe Etim

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Emmanuel Uwe Etim
Monday 20 September 2021

I Hate To Tell You

When this fire burns, burns and burns then

Suddenly ceases to burn, pour its embers into

The mouth of an inflamed water. 


I hate to  strain the ticking ears of time,

I hate to be like another frustrated wife

Kicking the large testicles of life, 


I hate to confess in the custody of a crowdless

Market,

That I'm no more that lion whose roar can resurrect

A buried decade, 


That I'm no more like a breathing tomb wrapped

With the linings of Lazarusing flairs,

That my confidence now stutters like a stammerer

Called to argue guilt, 


Knowing my personifications still

Till in the farm of poetry, 

Knowing I still lay alone every cold nights

Cuddled by fantasies, 


Knowing that the branches of my songs are 

Pruned by the cutlass of what I don't know,

Knowing I still throw my calls open to the silo

Of fat famished homes, 


I hate to tell you,

That, I do not know if i can confront

The gaints in these Intimidating days. 


Etim Emmanuel Uwe











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