Renaissance Poem by Echezonachukwu Nduka

now that the streets are stripped
and keys lock themselves in defiance,
should nudity blind the eyes of minors?
now that the streets are filled with dry tongues
and streams dry at daybreak,
from whence should spittle flow as fountains?

you are a lad whose songs suspend all chaos
as every tongue is tempted to test a divisive theory;
your lyrics are now dead that lights the lone candle.
plucked from thorns—dry are the roses thrown at your feet.
yours is a blind eye that tell stories of yesteryear;
yet, these stories rename themselves every passing day.
a strange cloud fills your head and forms a note:
the keeper of this mind has lost his job.
go home and await a worthy rebel.

when you let your sweat drop on a photo
that fetched you fame, your mind’s keeper died again.
forlorn, there were no tears to celebrate your foolery
and i still plead—let your rebellion be vanquished.
while you have your eyes closed and your ears sold;
your muse is in labor and awaits your repentance.
you are not a rebel.
embrace a new birth. a new song.