What Is Poetry? Poem by ENOCH AANU OJOTISA

A puzzle it turns out,
That we in turn, turn in at crossed roads of answer.
Fighting not to be fought with mockery
So, I, the originator of this line answered.
Poetry is nothing but an imagery of a crazy man.
We all are crazy: but what makes me a better crazy fellow, is poetry.
To a brother in veil of westernization I asked?
What is it that hover your eyes?
Giggling sound of confusion he resumes,
By remembering our heroes who once held in victory?
We murmur by calling the blissful shapes of our women and not ladies!
He knuckles his head over when he flashed back,
The memory of the village in the city*
Finally, he answers, that the power of the police and its employers,
Of its formality, crashes our soul of genuine poetry!
Mere sky-scraping of the views of men,
Drowning our ideas like the bottomless pit of death!