it is a kwansaba {seven lines of words less than seven letters}on the futility and essence of things like life and death and the significance of existence.


father at terminus

the dying priest lay upon his bed
knurled fingers feebly holding his wearied beads
silent lips. in my heart i felt
the sad weight of other mens sins
strange;the dying glint in his eye
exalted Donne, made quarell with Owen
o death. . .thou shalt not kill me!




Poetry by richard ugbede ali
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Written on 2006-11-18 at 14:23

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EmelÚn The PoetBay support member heart!
a kwansaba . You speak I listen Sir . Because this poem is in a class of itself .
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2006-11-18