The portrait of a man, without exaggeration,
is the silhouetted shape of a boy
mourning a lover whose remains are as
far-flung as the bomb which dimmed the lights
of a hundred and fifty four distant relatives
and lighted a city-worth of tribute torches.
Without exaggeration,
this portrait is the flickering candle atop a wooden table
on which a girl lays her head, dreaming of
an age where men would hold the hands of their sons;
or would huddle together to front assailant gusts,
each mourning an era of warm green.
The portrait of a man—
a painting of Serge Marshennikov’s searching soul
and a mirror that reflects stories of a light
prisoned by being and failed by words,
a longing which is only a part of an endless longing.
Earth silently groans.
Portrait. Man.
Shouts and primal calls of men
consumed to the bone by borders and gods,
evoking a trance of Ares in full armour
and a burning house whose column of smoke
thick, ascends to the god of the barbarians.
Oh, know this:
the portrait of a man, without exaggeration,
is as cold mobile frames
woven from interlaced substrates of flesh, bones and the unthinkable
shielding singly-placed hearts with cavitation defects,
from whence a vacuum emerges;
from whence all is devoured.
The Author
Gabriel Nwadike is a student of the University of Uyo. His interests include poetry, music, movies, and medieval paintings.