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Wednesday, March 27, 2019

THE MIRACLE


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THE MIRACLE
Like the workers in the mines, he searches for the precious answers.
In the gardens of expectation, he anticipates a miracle.
A life of no affluence altered his eloquence.
Penury was real,luxury was surreal.
Lamentations couldn’t bring his desires to realization.
Full of energy, like a stag in the woods.
They say, a hard worker never lacks.
Miracles never find the indolent.
Where is the miracle?
Billions of cells made him.
It takes one gangster to start the cancer.
Like a tiger in the savannah, he walks awesomely in the mode of a superstar.
That is the miracle.
The pool of life is full of sickles.
For four decades, she endured the prickles.
The eyes of the beautiful fellow were unique because of the yellow.
Life was unfair, hope was the pillow.
The pressure rises, so does the crisis.
It was excruciating, it was sequestrating.
They say, the sower in tears will reap with joy.
The farmer with the sickle should harvest miracles.
Where is the miracle?
Every night, she dies like a door nail.
Every morning, she is resurrected like a door bell.
That is the miracle.
On the ferry of curiosity, he perused the pages of life.
Life is full of questions, answers not in the options.
He was drenched by the rains of uncertainty.
The medications were unlabelled, the nurses are unsure.
If there was a maker, there wouldn’t be a breaker.
If there was a maker, there will be a clincher.
They say, the seeker always finds.
The inquirer embraces wonders.
Where is the miracle?
Once upon a time, millions ran the race of life.
The egg was ready.
The winner would be the body.
The rest would be nothing.
Out of many, he became the body.
May the day his parents met be blessed.
This is the miracle.
The end was unpredictable.
The news was unbelievable.
The beautiful flowers wither earlier than expected.
The ugly ones linger, and are much pollinated.
This is life.
A composite of fright, smiles and cries.
No one knows the time.
The world marveled at his great works.
The vision was real, the archeologist will be thrilled.
The hero will be missed.
The road sign in the path of hope.
The villain was gravity.
Gravity without sanity
They say, the meek will inherit the earth.
The man at the pinnacle should lean on miracles.
Where is the miracle?
Six minutes against gravity, he took the wings of the morning.
Guided by the mighty hand.
He was a miracle.
Six feet beneath, his great works illuminate the dark world.
The crowd couldn’t agree more.
He is a miracle.
Atinsola Mayowa
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