SERMON OF SILENT
by Owoh Ugonna
They say the rhythm of silent is keen,
Say words are loss.
The first message was the liturgy of anguish,
It slipped into me like a crying light,
Shielding dark prophecies from empty voices,
Liquid bodies learn to ripple.
Silent tosses like nightmare dreamt at autumn.
The immenency of this words cries with unfolded fetters.
The last song was that of Barbra.
Her middle verses were whispers.
Whistling on earlobes.
She said music fell silent,
Rhythm held cervices of pocketed sounds.
The winds unfolded,
Ran helter
Ran skelter
And the rhythm of silent sang of narrowness.
Alas! The squirmy liquid lumbered,
Dripping like hill drops of saliva.
It sounded qui-m qui-m.
And then silent fell keen ‘gain
The last parable an old man spoke with was death,
He scuttled and laid on empty ground,
Winds mourned,
Trees wore black dresses,
And the bunch of world
Cling their jaws against their teeth.
The unheard words was silent,
Its melody was toss like mango.
The drum talked,
And hands cried of pains.
That day became a celebration of silent.
The liturgy of solitude spoke loss,.
The wordless myth cried of whispers,
And the last rhythm of a voice came from a
Reeling lips that said
“Silent is loss”.
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