by S. Abdulwasi’h Olaitan
***
if i were the echo of my restless nights, i would have started this poem
in the dampness of a silent moment with a stray bullet of honeyed
tongue prayer that seeks unity in the beating heart of God’s incarnation.
they are jealous, of me, i guess. i know the gods are jealous of me. with the
heart of angels, i carry whispered dreams with me & my words are the wings
of freedom. their sights borne across vast expanses of doubt, fly like curious
balloons. Solomon birds would bow to them. lustral they go, tracing my absence
in the swirl of lost names. & so they do, in the midst of faceless landscapes. they
are searching for my face, when the moon rises over the remains of belonging
& the sun sets on renounced cities.
once, i ask an astrologist*** if i can unpack my luggage here & populate the
future now? he says, stargazing into a cosmic chart, he perceives the constellations
whispering clues about what is ahead. he says without consulting his inner-city; NO.
like a sailor setting ashore the boat of fatherland, i lit up the second question. could there,
in my soft hearted reach, be a man beneath the same uncaring sky, whose heart beats
in time with mine in this brittle dance of hope and fatigue? so where is the water’s
pilgrimage entry located in the coconut’s potbelly? he couldn’t grasp the truth, it
slipped through his fingers like a still born that just escapes her mother’s orchard.
***
today makes it sixty-five months of me pretending to be ignorant of my own fate
empathy pays me a visit like an honored guest & rue lives inside me like someone
who knows the font of his freedom. play for me, the music of afterlife where the
passing of time doesn’t only weigh on my wallet but also all that securely ties my
sovereignty together. if there is a piece of fatherland hidden within me, or play
me the music of motherland so that i can lay these inquisitive tears that long for a
place of its own.
if being honest? my griefs are obedient groomsmen. if being loyal? in the
fragment of a distant dream a yearning heart would claim its mark. if being costly?
in my land, air and breath are the most inexpensive commodities. if being beautiful?
i wear the face cards of suffering & smiling without asking permission from the
monarch. if being adequate? the sailors of my country are detailed measurements
that’s ever kissed the tummies of the hungry. if being appreciative? the fastest way
to induce a bellyache is known to the worms in my stomach.
S. Abdulwasi’h Olaitan is a Nigerian introverted poet and essayist. He writes from a hole 54 kilometers away from Kwara State. He is deeply devoted to God and lover of his parents. He’s the author of the longlisted chapbook “Life, An Objet D’art” (Arting Arena Poetry Chapbook Prize 2023) and was a finalist for Chukwuemeka Akachi prize (2024). His works can be found in Believeau Books, Bare Hill Review, Pictura journal, Pawners Paper, UGR,The Graveyard Magazine, Arts lounge, OPA, Avant Appalachia, Ta Adesa, Wordsmpire, Shooting Star, and elsewhere.