I, The Wind
by
Iyan Igma
I live like the wind,
Governed by forces beyond my control,
A Chinook rushing down the front,
Impaled on mountains is my soul.
Hither thither am I sent
Because heat and passion are not stable.
Fickle, steady, brutal, and sweet,
I leave my mark when I am able.
Supernova
by
Iyan Igma
His love was a comet’s song;
Beautiful, lovely, disastrously gone.
Bleeding tears of milky despair,
With the cosmos his pain to share.
He was taken with a-flaring anger and fearful ague,
And here is where it all grows vague,
For which of you mayst nobly say
Aught of the demented mood on that day
When the swollen red giant burst?
In anguished, doubting confusion, and what’s worst
Of all these passions, a self-hating shriek
Urging self-slaughter in no way meek.
This once dazzling and coyish entity
Set fright in all who did see
His plasma smear the firmament,
And to his fickle love was sent
Word of his turbulent demise.
On occasion she thinks and cries,
Her cold tears streaking watching skies.
But she has no forgiveness in their eyes,
And from where he once lay she’s often fled
Like cosmic winds to another’s bed;
And with thoughts as empty as his love,
We now wonder if there’s life above.
Expected
by
Iyan Igma
How odd to see you in attention bask.
Like kelp in whale maws or a sunlit cask,
Some destruction your image will accrue.
What a pity you act as some girls do;
I’d had such high expectations of ye.
I cry inside, though I smile to you see
Effervescent, feminine, flirty. True
Stoicism’s why I had rather loved you,
But, though a loved’s no longer as once deemed,
I’d been a fool to believe all’s as seemed.
In preparation for the imminent
Day, I have thought about what my love’s meant:
You’re like an old me, ergo ye must change,
And your actions. . . well, love does oft’ derange.
