Illogical logics— I


Breathing and heaving,
the tantrums of a fifty painted gallery—
gallery steamed by cyclone of hallucinations;
no better place to attribute ones conscience.

where did conscience go to,
that consciousness be carried away like a shred of paper?
and o’ multi-nationals rob socialist?
and who is that sinner saint claiming heaven for his own life?

catastrophes cross-checking the safety of humanity—
and where earthquakes devour millions in one open mouth of the earth,
bubbles of our ocean never foaming to lather with our locally manufactured soap;
and when did the palm oil flout the rules of chemistry?

the sky is a triple folded heavens;
with a huge ball of sun not burning humanity into ashes—
and where did the atmosphere get tropopause;
that ionosphere be a catalyst for different shades? 

the lilies grow with time;
they hope to stay on forever,
but when time is on flight feathers—
their roots gets denial from the still waters because no place for vagabonds.

a complete sickness for two fateful life—
sanity and insanity!
the mad man’s world is his sanity—
the sane man’s world is his sanity—
but who at all is in the world of insanity?

how can poets make inanimate things animate?
that they call it personification—
such under a dichotomy of reality;
is never pragmatic at all— or is it?

gods and goddesses—
a stream of graduate spirits,
admired at the core of creative imagination?
but why can’t unaided eyes of mortals take their glimpse?

cosmonauts— glacier skulled astronauts;
and astronomical thesis of horoscopes by whites….
but ask why Africans can’t visit space,
whirls of their own mystique a blockade…

troubles for solutions—
problems catalog on salvage—
and lingers of mythology in the ocean—
square filled secret nervousness of incomprehensible

I want to go to heaven;
or maybe hell would be a better betrayal,
with great letters of aphorism—
bestowing the agonies of Christ

Books of change written by authors—
authors not being the change itself—
what a worthwhile encryption of creation,
limbing in the crayons of limbo— that they aren’t setting fantasy

Logic can beat illogical;
with illogical stabbing logical dilemma—
but where is there logic conclusion,
when all look loops of cliché of fictitious illogics?

The Village Thinker © 2014

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