Gird the city with your eyes, Lambent in the setting sun. Measure the life of each breath Before they are drunk by the sea of wreaths begging near the asphalt. Spread your feet like so, Each big toe touching the end & beginning of black pain. Watch the cloud fluff like pillows, Mother moulding God's anger With arms stained with old blood. You are the whole, the continuity, The courage of graves, swollen With seawater - you are the body Of songs swaying from trees, The manacles of souls boarding The old roads on the back of progress. Call out with a loud voice, Lest they say you did not speak. Put the dirges on repeat, Lest they say you did not say enough. If we can travel beyond the sky To the ends of the milky way, We can dig beneath for bones, Now silent, & give them voice; We can unanchor trauma & let It fly free against the wind. Gather your belongings, board The bus & roam across the world; Each road leads to revelation. If you do not find truth, you will Find laughter, sad & sweet.
Osahon Oka is a Nigerian writer finding his voice. He believes in the beauty and art that comes out of Nigeria and Africa. He enjoys books, art, sky watching. His writing can be found on different journals. His debut, a collection of short stories, is forthcoming on Praxis Books.