First Gong Vol. 8: Thrust FIRST GONG 8 THRUST | Page 124

Sitting alone in this darkness now
Bottle in one hand, regret in the other
Picking up words like they were stones
To fling at the foot of God’s throne
Waiting for some door in the black cloud
To open up but nothing happened
Rain falls, night comes
And I’m still here, sitting alone in this darkness
enveloped in the shadows of what I once used to be
I used to be something good
I used to be words carefully wrapped with beautiful metaphors
I used to be imageries painting emotions anew
I used to be the smiles on faces after a genuine I love you straight from the heart
I used to be answers
I used to be fresh ink painting away sorrows on the innocence of white pages
I used to be voices
I used to be echoes echoing off the voices of
Yeats, Shakespeare, and Dickinson
The words that grew wings and fly
I used to be the feelings engraved at the top of your heart
Maya Angelou , Edgar Allan Poe, Robert Frost
Raise your words, not your voice, It is the rain that grows flowers not thunder
Rumi, Li Bai, Homer
I used to be something meaningful,
Beautiful
But Like a paper origami on a flowing lake
On a raining day
Being pulled along by the river tides
Never having the freewill to go this way or that way
Like a paper origami on a flowing lake
On a rainy day
Hurried along by life’s pace
I’ve walked past my name and left my poem behind
Ajijola Habeeb
124