It is dawn and all is still,
The smell of settled dust and washed leaves fills the air.
The sky, once dark and threatening, turns blue.
The birds sing and chickens cluck over upturned food.
When the storm came, all was lost,
Nothing seemed right,
No movement was heard in the night except the beating of rain on every
surface, like drums beating the war cry.
All night long the rain came down, the once welcomed trickle turned into a nasty storm.
What was once beautiful turned into a nightmare
It was a great storm, a turbulent time that one thought would never end
Everything changed the day my heart died
Eyes lost their sparkle,
Happiness faded into a distance.
The dull ache stayed permanently just below the womb
Now the storm was over,
The calm that followed was a shock.
The effects of the storm showed in various ways:
Things that were up-rooted were things that were washed away.
Others were destroyed
Some so far gone that there was no repair.
Others like the seeds just floated along, settled and started to flourish.
The strong became stronger.
The rays of light touched the heart, melting away all fear,
The terror that once held one captive disappeared
What was the purpose of the storm? We will never know,
But out of it all came a certain understanding,
A certain peace, a certain calm, a certain strength
And determination to go on and on and on.
After the Storm - Mariska Taylor-Darko
Read More: Mariska Taylor-Darko
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A POET PAR EXCELLENCE
Some are born to be poets. I mean, some have it as a call upon their soul. Such people often write with spirit and revelation - to the utmost profit of their readers.
As I have read Mariska's poetry for a while, it gives me much pleasure to address her as one of those who have been called.
Although we share a common name, I am particularly in favour of her brilliant work, and truly an admirer of her full name.
Thank you Darko Antwi. To be put in the league of one of those who have been called (by a fellow writer) is an honour.
Seems that poets of witness is a genre seemingly closer to the hearts and eyes of female contributors this however only enhances the richness of the spectrum.
The poem a reflective lament to what to who? on the deeper level.Its strength and pondering beauty lies in the mysterious possibility.
Futhermore welcome back--Mariska.---------Silverzorro.
Its amazing. Keep writng. I want more from you.
Don't want to offend so I'm treading the tide here; but I find it quite elusive. Just when I think I have a faint idea of what it says, some line disabuses my arrogance, and before I know it I've crossed the line btn the present and the past. Knowing how the poem started puts a different light on it.
I'm not sure why the poetry of witness should necessarily be gender specific. Some of the best poetry on/about Biafra was written by men, and they didn't all fight - but then that was a lifetime ago.
Still my condolences Mariska
Thats a beautiful poem, the imagery and how Mariska builds on each line seduces you to want to be there in her thought.
'The dull ache stayed permanently just below the womb'
Mariska's poem is a weave of sentiments. The nausea that perpetually remains after gut-wrenching sorrow is best captured in the above-quoted lines from 'After the Storm'
Here is a poet whose poetry is a reportage on the human capacity to contain, and overcome, the many storms that define our existence. From struggle comes sense and sensibility. Mariska came, she saw and she conquered.
Thanks for sharing this splendid poem and please accept my condolences.
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