• Our Verse

Poetry: Bleak Sundara

Updated: Mar 19, 2019


To paint on a non-existent canvas.

To dance to an internal, one-sided song.

To shatter the empty glass.

To burn the wax wings in breathless descent.


Do we laugh, smile, or cry?

As we fumble through tangles.

Do we pray, curse, or chide?

As we cradle the scorpion under a broken wing.


The husk,

the self-paradise;

The own purgatorio,

the bleak Sundara. -Gabriel Ògungbadẹ́

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