What’s in a life alive for deadlines
and 7-minute bus-stops?
Ó wà o
But where else do you go
when home is the one that kicked you out
ground to dust
mortified
dust, to dust.
Obáléndé wolé, kò sí change o
When bodies surge and stream,
persons flowing into others
meeting, leaving
like ants in a colony,
kissing, leaving,
leaving–
Mummy ę jǫ ę gbédí á fę tìlękùn
The lagoon seethes where
little men sit in yellow boxes
bent at the neck
in resolute resignation to
a mirage of peace,
home is far.
Owò dá níwájú?
The poet is a song
versed in short dirges
a son of peace,
sentenced to life,
home is far.
Ó n bǫlę o
What’s the reflection of happiness
on hot hard tar?
The poet is looking for home–
That’s his adventure.
Chris Oke is a Nigerian corporate commercial lawyer who is perennially infatuated with strength, beauty, words and the rhythm of life (not necessarily in this order).