I dream sometimes of suns—
They are lost in this cave of storms,
I dream sometimes of storms
On skyward reins of a thirsty earth
As ants, burdened, yet a grieving shadow
To exiles of sap, drawn as moons
And I hear them scuttle only where
Papa’s wine usurps mother’s breasts;
Lone as the tongue that recalls, as our
Roof who casted mangoes used to kiss.
I dream sometimes of kernels, earthed,
As marooned tribes of the world—
Burrowing voices, a mind’s penance
Shriveled in time’s progression
I dream of barns, for now I see walls
I dream of dance, for now I see haste
Lest, seeing, I mourn for eternities
That receding skin where furrows lie;
All that lies mocks a dying cloud
Survived by long forgotten mists…
Lover, you have become as mist
I dream sometimes of you in sessions:
“Do you miss me?” “When will you return?”
PHONE STATIC— “Have a nice day now.”
Or a nice month it was. Or year. Or decade.
Incessant fears prolong the path of hope
Yet I dream sometimes of your touch
Upon this dangling telephone wire.
Post image by emilykneeter via Flickr
About the Author:
Oyin Oludipe is the Nonfiction Editor of Expound, a magazine of arts and aesthetics. He is a young Nigerian poet, blogger, playwright, essayist, critic, columnist and copywriter. He contributed to the anthology, “Footmarks: Poems on 100 Years of Nigeria’s Nationhood” with his poems, “Student” and “The Rage is Red”. His works have been published by The New Black Magazine, Ehanom Review, Ijagun Poetry Journal, The Kalahari Review, Praxis Magazine for Arts and Literature, The Literary Vox, Kaanem Art Magazine, Kalamu Review, Pulse.ng, The Guardian and other Nigerian dailies. Oyin’s major influence is the Nigerian Nobel Laureate and Playwright, Wole Soyinka.