Tag Archive | Illusion

Wispy clouds of perfection…

 

May we not strive for perfection,
for we shall break our backs

In pursuit of such elusive dreams,
we simply break our hearts

for perfection can never be caught,
no matter how hard it is sought

for like fine wisps of cloud,
they melt or move beyond our sights

leaving yawns of dissatisfaction behind,
or sending us on endless quests in our mind.

May we strive for greater purpose,
for contentment is awesome

for satisfaction is a comfortable bed to lay on,
with peace a priceless joy to know.

Perfection

© Jacqueline Oby-Ikocha


Below is my first just published Poetry Book “Out of the silent breath” which is available on Amazon and Smashwords.

When you buy my book, you support me in an invaluable manner.

 

I absolutely love this book of poems. My favorites are “Love Rations” (for those who love to give the silent treatment) and “Beggars Supper” (which definitely pulls at the heart strings). Two thumbs up!!

Out of the silent breath

Advertisements

Shattered Glass….

 

They created illusion for themselves

Living out their fake lives

Even as the noose tightened

With each passing day

He, in his fast car

And skimmed funds

He ran from the drug Lords

They are fast on his tail.

—–

She lived hers in the bottle of illusion

Where all was illuminated through her languid gaze

Fake, starry aura induced

From needle pricks

That zig-zagged

Through her veins

Until the glass fell

And shattered in the cold silence.

—–

Jacqueline Oby-Ikocha

Fake, The Daily Post Prompt

Blindsided…

At last there was eerie calm. The heated tussle was over. She clutched the bloodied, sharp butcher knife, her hands totally saturated in blood, which trickled down the cracks of her fingers in rivulets and dripped all over the floor.

In the frenzy of the struggle, the blood had splattered everywhere, including the walls. She was surprised at the amount of blood which had pooled on the floor. Indeed, it would require a thorough clean up, if not the stains will become affixed and she would hate such constant reminders.

Hissing in pain, she turned on the kitchen tap which simply sputtered, coughed up a few drops of water and ceased. Wishful thinking she said to herself. This night is just going nicely. Stomping out of her back door, she fetched a bowl of water from one of the  jerrycans of water that they purchased from the roaming water vendors and tried to wash her hands to staunch the flow of blood from the cut on her left index finger. Her upper arms had criss-crossed scratch marks. She mentally reminds herself to wear Iro and Buba for the next couple of days to ward off unnecessary inquisition.

Walking over to where he was sprawled haphazardly, she took several minutes to eye him in disdain and  then went about the distasteful business of dissecting the remains in a meticulous surgical approach .

Hacking away at the body parts in small bits to make it easier to handle, every cut of flesh and squirt of blood forced the bile to rise in her throat but she tampered her desire to vomit and performed the odious act calmly. Some of these bones will require the cutlass to break them, she muttered to herself.

Her emotions were a mingle of sorrow, satisfaction, bitterness and anger which simmered inside her like a cauldron on a slow cook.

When did it come to this, Agnes wondered?

Heh! Nobody told me that this is how this marriage thing would be, she shrieked silently in her mind.

She had been totally blindsided with the unreasonable expectations.

She had wanted a clean break, an opportunity to start afresh, but no! He would have none of that talk!

He had to intimidate her into submission and silence. Just last week was their second anniversary and the stingy man couldn’t even buy me anything, yet he shamelessly collected the jersey of his favorite football club that I bought.

How did I rope myself into this slavery, she pondered?

Was this how others felt out there as well?

Were they driven to murderous tendencies yet had false smiles plastered on their lips to distract observations from the pain behind their eyes, until the dam burst and all hell broke loose?

I have always been afraid that one day, if this man does not kill me, I will kill him!

Using a big black disposable bag, she packed up all traces of her killing, moped up the blood as much as she could and prepared all the stuff that she felt she needed.

In deed, it had been a long, hectic day of nightmarish proportions. Dragging the refuse bags that she had accumulated, she took the less used winding back staircase, walked down the dusky, silent street to the communal refuse dump and disposed the bags.

Now, finally I can rest, she exhaled and quickly went back to her house. She was in no mood to encounter any nosy neighbor.

The pot was ready. Dishing a generous portion in his favorite serving bowl, she took it to the dinning.

He was still sprawled lackadaisically on the sofa, his slackened fingers had let go of the remote that he was clutching.

Linus, Linus, the Pepper soup is ready! She shook him harshly, in an attempt to wake him up from his snoring snooze.

Once he opened his bleary eyes, and made his way to the dinning, she served him his meal albeit grudgingly. She was too tired to eat.

Hissing yet again and mumbling under her breath as she wearily dragged herself to bed, she hoped that the hot spicy turkey pepper soup will scald his tongue.

What is the World coming to, she queried rhetorically? Back in the days when I was growing up, the men killed and carved the birds and animals whilst the women did the cooking.

This lazy man couldn’t even kill a Turkey and had sat in oblivious contentment whilst the stubborn bird gave me such a hard time!

She marveled at how a bird that it’s head was almost decapitated still managed to trash and jump around so much, causing a lot of havoc in her kitchen, a reluctant chuckle escaped her mouth when she recollected the run around that the big bird had given her.

Who knows? Maybe, one of these days, he will expect me to slaughter a cow.

Jacqueline Oby-Ikocha

Glossary:

Iro and Buba: Nigerian native wear, worn by women as wrapper and a top with very long, loose sleeves.

Pepper Soup: Hot, spicy soup made with meat,