Poetry by 'Imilani Didot
there would be no greater tragedy
than to have them clipped - not because we'd never fly again,
but because we'd spend eternity wond'ring what might have been.
Blind to art we might yet paint,
deaf to songs we might yet sing,
we'd sourly scour the sky,
and forget birds
possess dazzling voices, too.
The boy with dewdrops in his eyes
Was too afraid to tell a soul
That cloaked beneath his cheap disguise
Were tears he feared would soon patrol
The hills and valleys of his cheeks
Then shimmy slowly to his chin.
They'd tumble down from lofty peaks
If ever freed from deep within.
The souls would sneer at such a crime–
Their mocking jeers would break his pride–
And tears they've swallowed all this time
To prove that real men never cried
Would glean a real man's alibi:
"They were dewdrops, not teardrops."
hope is a thing with petals.
a withering sunflower cast her gaze
faithfully into the storm
in hopes to glimpse the tender sun,
glowing golden, bright, and warm.
she meekly shivered and–suspended–
stooped in gloom to brutish gusts,
and yet (despite her plight) extended
her sallow face, aglow with trust
that vicious rains might start receding,
and blackened clouds might cease impeding
the lavish rays which sate her thirst,
and just like that, the clouds dispersed,
and though her neighbor, sturdy oak
had fallen limp without a fight,
by virtue of her faith and hope,
the sunflower survived the night–
but then the sky returned to grey,
so once again, she chose to pray;
her hope was met with spiteful spray,
and she–in anguish–passed away.
the gilded daystar soon returned
and in his rage, the garden burned.
a drab, marred earth was left behind,
now hostile, barren, and unkind–
he and i are wondering…
What sadistic jerk plants a sunflower
before a hurricane?
'Imi studies creative writing at Chapman University. His name, like him, is Hawaiian, meaning 'Seeker'.