A Collection of Mantras

Last night was cold

It wasn’t me who sat sold

Go back to that seat

It was miffed who sat heat

I want to vanish

Melt so unrecognized

I am already brittle

What could be more visible?


Go back to that seat

Lust hastened your feet

Across the ice-coated lawn

You came to be gratified!

Yes! The preacher says it

The mind knower tells it

Everyone quotes it

Still I can’t hold it


Feels like sandy soil tossed up

Returns as wet clay soil

On my head and feet

Stained and unable to wash up

It is my life; my decision

It is your courage; your approval

You drown my children

And tell me not to pooper your party


Open the prison gates

I fancy a guided spurt

Do not tell me I am a woman

I want to dance at my children’s funeral

My newest clothes will be on me

My panties and my bra all new

Gonna ghastly hide my nakedness

It is a day of Joy!


With those fingers again

Point them at me for gain

Let the ancestors be alert

But tell them you took my womb

And geered at up for being barren

In human flesh Sytx is my name

Rehearsing how to die

Dying is a skill!


Next Sunday in Church

Sitting in this divine laboratory

The men apportioned the right side

The women told to sit on the left

The bells shall ring

Can we sell the priest’s regalia?

I will be able to pay for my funeral

First skill in dying.


The preacher mounts his pulpit

I know the sermon already

Today’s service is for the righteous

“Two blind men cannot lead each other”

But you are wrong pastor!

Two blind can lead each other into a pit

Now, it makes sense to me.

Keep giggling in your omniscience


Two blind people leading each other

The concept of humanity and love

The heartbeat of compassion

Blindness trusts; it sees straight

Two blind people leading each other

No damn judgment will be cultivated

Each one knows they are both weak

Preacher let us go; it is lunchtime!


While mounting the hill in daylight

Your eyes you deafened

And your hands you gelded

I crawled on in futility

Like an ant failing to master spherical

Now it is dark! And you are a nyctophile

Bravo! On your change of status

All for my descent so you can descend!


Last night was cold

But your looks are now even colder

The sinner canonized and incensed

The saint is interrogated

I call blindness on myself for peace

Deafness for firmness

My lips jogs in this collective enchantment

I needed more than just a mantra!

The Author Larry Onokpite is from Delta State, Nigeria. He considers reading and writing as great forms of spirituality