Spasms

when the storm begins
has a bird not mastered the road home?
++++++so when i saw
breaking news: asuu extends strike
i laughed
who does not know++++++that a cow must moo
that a jungle must scatter
that vine is to twine as my country is to lurch
or maybe I’ve seen so much++++++that
i can now look evil in the eyes
& smile

this easter, i’ll see a headless chicken writhe on its last gust of soul
this easter, i’ll remember epilepsy

weeks ago, my father’s voice
rippled through me like déjà vu.++++++no.
like a way of life: i go to school, i return home, he asks me:
“what will you do with this break?” i go again,
return again, “what will you do with this break …?”
ah.

i look at my luggage & the wearing tyres are as if it is saying
“enobong, are we nomads?”

ramadan will end
& i’ll see a felled cow,
& i’ll remember a continent’s giant
++++++whose legs cannot stand.

————

Tribute to An Art of Godhood

imagine++++++that i find myself
where no one knows the magic
that pen & paper conjure
won’t i preach++++++won’t i stretch
my fingers++++++& begin
to invoke words on wet sand
won’t i teach children to incant like we do here?++++++to decree
to say to their soul ‘speak!’
and it obeys
to their feelings ‘flow!’
& they flow++++++& flow++++++like waters
from Horeb.

how much tribute can a boy, a bird
sing to the wind that pilots him
who would have known
that
brooding and beauty can bloom in same orchard
like hailstorm and sunshine from one heaven
who would have known++++++that a boy++++++can touch
again
everything he lost
see++++++again
everything that went away.
++++++that poetry is compass compassionate
leading a lost dog to the scent of home

who would have known++++++that a small boy
can learn to be like God, to create
++++++to practice a craft of the Creator:
poetry

————
Poetry: Enobong Ernest Enobong
Image: Darren Collis from Pixabay (modded)