The day Hope died,
It died on the street, it was
speared by the thorns of roses.
It’s soul ascended with the scent of the bloom
To the dreaded gate of Jahannam, And
It’s condemned body laid on a damned earth,
In a pool of it’s own precious blood,
And nectar, which it’s been stealing
From the garden of an enticing future.
Omotayo Awoyemi is a Nigerian word weaver with global vision, a medical student at Obafemi Awolowo University, Ile-Ife, Nigeria. He was living solely in his 'world of science' until sometimes in 2012, when he bumped accidentally into poetry. Since then, poetry kept welling up in him like an uncontrollable chain of nuclear reaction. The future is clear to him as he is set out to earn a Nobel prize for literature, not minding his science oriented background and health-based life.
3 thoughts on “THE DAY HOPE DIED by Omotayo Awoyemi”
I like the last two lines. Someone once said, “though hope is frail, it’s hard to kill”. It may not be raging with flames, but there’s always a spark somewhere…
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I like the last two lines. Someone once said, “though hope is frail, it’s hard to kill”. It may not be raging with flames, but there’s always a spark somewhere…
Succinctly crafted.
Full of imagery to reckon with.