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   Tolu Ogunlesi
   Yomi Ola
   Molara Wood

African Writing Archives

Current A.W.

 

   

Angela Amalonye Nwosu

 

 

Angela Nwosu

Nwosu lives and writes in Denver Colorado. Her poetry collection is Waking Dreams.

 

   
     

 
 A Splash of Glory
 

           1

Remember how the angel of silent moments
passes through an awkward situation-

Say, that your silent angel will plant a seed of awakening
Say, this gift will bear a fruit of fireworks
In the stillness of your thoughts,
let your ears befriend the birds
Say, you will find that which never went away…

…Expend so much energy on the expectation that
something will go wrong and one moment of glory
might pass by. Celebrate every aspect of the inner self
and gain a fleeting moment of gloriousness.

Now inhale the air of mercy-
Say, that every heart is an altar of healing
Say, that the winds will obey the spirit within
Say, that love will kiss the highest mountain.

Now call forth the passing glory
Let the roaring waves proclaim a flourish
Say, my face is in All-Face
Say, my feet is in All- Footprints
Say, my dance is in All- Song
Raise my hand in every shout of jubilation
Find my love in every embrace
Say, say my name in All-Name.

 

 

 

           2

For Rev. Sister Therese Nwosu


Upon the shimmering sea, I cast my soul
Upon the waves my heart is an olive dream.
Starring into the depths of a void
Spirit is an endless stream of motion
Truth is a circle of fractured visions
Darkness is the key to the gate
Light is the gate to the future…

Upon the rock, I seek the sky
Upon the valley, I find the garden
Upon the turbulence of life, I plant love
Upon the depths of my soul, I cultivate flowers
Upon the shimmering sea, spirit returns
in the anointing waves.

 

 

 

          3


Between the influx of the road
is the prefix of the unknown
the suffix of the known
and the infix of shadows

Like a dream sequence
sometimes, life is a line of déjà vu
yet I believe that my finger can
Slip through the window and touch
the landscape of blue mountains
and I can walk through the
Field of swaying leaves

In deep sleep
I drink from the cup of agony and prophecy
The cup that turned mercy and love
into holy wine
and ask the muse of my soul
if the cross can exist without the lamp

And the muse kissed the road
The muse whispered to the wind;
The womb is a shade
The heart is a basket of eggs
And the soul is
the door out of
the cage.

 

 

 

          4


The morning walk is a stretch of sanity.
It is a search for the gentle breeze of a new dawn-
today the heart will grow into a flower...
but at the tip of the tongue, the little stories
struggle through a paragraph of relevance and one line screams
Everything in the end, is memory :

The soul is a memory of divine invisibility
Earth is a memory of everlasting splendor
Death is a shade of love.
The seasons fortify the mind with the reality of change;
Nothing is stable
Nothing is broken
Everything merges into the Whole

Yet, the search is endless, mostly futile
but sometimes, in a faraway dream, meaning surfaces, like death;
It is sudden. It is real. Then it vanishes.
The chill at night recalls the passion of fire; the heart will
blossom even though there will be inward descents into
the self; another search for sanity


But I will pray to the Lord, I will say;
Let me be humble to the point of insignificance
Let me melt into zero
Let me rise when the flesh dies
For
Between the seasons and the search
In the end, like the Eucharist
Everything becomes memory.

 

 

 

          5

Everything proclaims the divine will
through the unity of the law
and the power of light
Moving back and forth in the stability of oneness
Deity reveals her holiness
through the conquest of trial
and victory under the influence of sacrifice
achieves a scale of balance
Singing the wisdom of the spheres
change is nothing but feeding the soul.

The gracious picture of spirit
is dying by shedding the self through love
until nothing remains, but the
Great initiation of renewals
which will lift the dark veil
of pride and illusion
into the reality of hope and faith
where blind delusion will cease.

The heart seeks delight in the
Nameless and the elusive, but
The sepulcher will rise only through the
Atonement of re-ascension,
And then in our dreams
Everything will be possible

       
   
               
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