Two Poems | Marvellous Igwe
Sisyphus
It is totally possible to sum the
entirety of your life, to contract
both height & depth & breadth
& width into a corridor. Come,
behold these paintings, not of
who I am, but of who I am
to be. They stand glorious before
me, 3, 4, 5, 6, as far as the
gallery stretches its serpentine
body. If I but grasp one, I could
become something like the sun,
these hands of Midas eyeing me.
But all this body seeks to do is run.
& in circles, I have run. Bare feet
thrashing earth, body in a
sempiternal state of motion. I
have turned into the decimal
chasing infinity. I have turned
into Adam pursuing the finger
of God. In my desert, I have
searched, not for water, but for
revelation. For no liquid can
quench this thirst gurgling in
my roots. In the map of my body,
I have scoured. But all I unearthed
out of my depths— the mirror,
its fingers holding my face. & the
profoundness has torn me, has
hewn me like an axe. Tell me,
how can a man not betray
himself? Teach me how not to
be this stubborn anchor. Let me
not remain this chain pinning
my body to the ground.
The Distance Between A Sad Boy
& His Smile
Again, I flee to my vellum of white. To
tattoo, to etch. To fleshen my melancholy,
to pinpoint the wound eating a hole
in my chest. For I will either exhume
this poem or die. Share bone and blood,
not with an ellipsis, but a full stop.
See, I am trying to prove. To show— to
you, & myself— that I am more than a
wellhead nippling an ocean of sadness.
That this body should not be reduced to
nothing more than a basket sweltering,
attempting to hold up anguish. But daily,
I fall short. Like the basket, I pour, & I
pour. Believe me when I say I am tired.
Of crimsoning every parchment with
my lake of ache. Of staining every thing
my hands touch, with grief.
Photo by Nick Fewings on Unsplash
Bio
Marvellous Mmesomachi Igwe is an aspiring poet from Port Harcourt, Nigeria and a student of Electrical
Engineering at the Rivers State University. When he is not daydreaming or listening to Lana del Rey, he is
trying to fashion a new line. He mainly writes about limerence, melancholies and the mundanities of
existing. He tweets @mesomaccius.
