Say cheese. Let the seven heavens come to your aid. Touch the sun and kiss the colour of the moon. Open your window and let it be day. Look for a linen and a scarlet, stitched by pretty palms of a calm tailor who shelters his heart like a dove. Snatch the frag-- rance of the sun. Invite the odour of the rain. Lay it upon your bed. I will be there when the day ages. I will be there at dawn, before the sky defines itself. I will be there when the wind is violent than the river.
I will be behind your door and beside the heart of your chaos. Even when you are asleep. Even behind your pillowcase. I will be there before your breakfast; be-- fore the burden of the day sits on your neck; before your radio announce the death of a young man, inno-- cent like the flesh of your palms. My child, I am your mother. Look at your back. What did you see? Like my promise, I will be there when the earth begins to shake and the clouds begin to wither. When the day goes off and you are alone. I will not become a bird and vanish. I will not be my country. I will plant a hole in your palm for God's protection to germinate. Ayòdéjì Israel is a poet, writer and editor. He is from the Southwestern part of Nigeria. His works have appeared/forthcoming on Livina Press, Defunct Magazine, Lumiere Review, Kreative Diadem, OneArtPoetry, Arts Lounge and antinarrative zine. You can find him on Twitter @Ayo_einstein. Comments are closed.
|
Archives
November 2023
Categories
All
|