Impetuous Poem by Wilson Tinotenda Waison

Impetuous is my poetry to reveal that Fig
The Fig that causes havoc and to have
Caused a reign of terror in the hamlet
That Fig to have strained my zealous
Thoughts of being in a rinsed civilisation
And framed a portal of misconceptions

To reminisce about you in the hamlet
Everyone hallows the Fig, and to seat
Underneath your shade, You inflicts more
Than the piercing breeze. The thoughts
Are of lumbering you down for firewood
Yet you blaze in mist of soothe that is elusive.

The Fig, to have bored me toils and enslaves
Mine crafted axes made blunt as l had
Striven to chop you for virtuous reasons
And my energies thwarted in the action
Impetuous then be my poetry
For I will live to cheer your demise

As I thought of watering you, and that
Maybe morrow would bored better prospects
It was just an eyesore, and your leaves
Heated to red hot, my peel to the heats
That was all the Fig could bore me,
A rinsed warmth and apathy

As I thought of ploughing your course
I damn longed for your branches to build
A shade, but all I got was your coldness
And now the craving be to pluck you out
From mother earth, Your deep roots my
Hinderence and never the Fig be uprooted.