Wind Chasers

By Okpeta Gideon

Chasing  the wind is a riveting 
crapshoot.
You could go as far as Jerusalem 
for an unplanned pilgrimage.
Even  as you dine  with kings,
it could tease you  round the clock.

Eating with monks  could be a
rare testimony,
it lores are civil, full of morals
that are thrown to  dust afterwards.

The priest, a lutheran said:
A greedy man chases the wind,
his shadow  moves randomly like
a butterfly,
he is a devil without  orientation.
I sat in a chair, in silence,
thinking a bit； maybe about the 
sermon.
If chasing the wind is greed,
why do  we've wings；
we've  the  wind ,  so can't  we
fly without wings？

...moled, fitted with curves, a perfect
hand made us 
still we want to be something else, 
someone else；
perhaps something differently.
This is dementia,  a mere case of  
ingratitude.
There's no prize for it.
Life is patterned this way:
A track event with two lanes 
other's  and  I's.
Each has its  uncertainty, thorn
that melts; walks away with
forbearance.
Running in other's lane adds 
nothing
to it, I's feat.
There's no prize for it.
This's the problem, thirst for 
what's other's:
Other's, a beautiful  flower
maybe a pink rose or a daffodil 
from East.
A tulip.
I's, a bouquet of anemones 
drenched 
with tears from a yellow sun.
A chimera  that has  eaten 
happiness in the plate of paradox.
Get busy your lane, there's no 
prize for the wind chasers.

Okpeta is a contributing writer for Joshuastruth magazine (JT MAG), and crispng.com. Some of his poems have appeared at Poem Hunter, Powerpoetry (a poetry community for
teachers and students); and Pondersavant. While others are upcoming or awaiting publication in different journals, and magazines. At his spare time, he writes and plays the keyboard.