Is a waterfall with brunette, dread locked clouds?
And rainbow irises
At Chavakali, I say. Scalding
When the smokie vendor asks, how hot your pepper?
He doesn’t believe it.
He doesn’t know
That this place has taught me forgiveness of self
To look in my eyes and accept the disappointment
Of fatigue, to promise that I will try again tomorrow.
That these hills
Bubble with molten marrow sometimes
In the black of her mold.
Your lips are a tang of sea
Lapping at the edges of my subconscious,
I’m floating in the fragrance of your froth
And speaking Luo in my sleep.
Then I remember when I see you
That your phone is in my pocket
And your bus has left.
Let’s sit here for a while, for all things work together,
Lost in twilights of strange suburbs,
Let’s not fret.
This Poem was published in the August 2022 edition of the WSA magazine. Please click here to download.
Read – What We Are Made Of – A Poem by Ogechi Osuji, Nigeria
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