on your left you'll see whats left behind
the unburnt lungs and unsound mind
on your right you'll spot a cliche scene
grovelling by the anthill's queen.
up ahead we're blocked by some debris
left in tact by king's decree
the driver's blind but this holds true:
the only way around is through.
so seatbelts on and hands in prayer
hope your God can get me there.
(a man jumps off the second floor
then crawls back through the roadside door
begging to be welcomed back
as if he never lead the pack.)
there's not one stranger in these seats
but swallowed by the hungry streets
do not inhale the asphalt breath
lest we're gifted our first death.
last stop is The Royal Us
you'll never leave this tour bus.

                                                                ...this has been your tour guide
                                                                      at least i can say that i tried.

To touch your lips before dawn stretches across our skin
Similar to The Creation of Adam

On the eve of your departure

Where whimsical scripts meet sacrosanct words
Wrapping themselves around your tongue
And ripple like kaftans when sung

We hold these truths to be self-evident
And your vision is honest

I refuse suffering your absence amongst the hunger I feel
Cooking up a plan to capture your heart
A pinch of your perspiration's salt
The kiwi sweetness in your sway

Even if you appear in my dreams, although miles away
It's the best homecoming yet.


Ifeanyi N. Okoro II - © 2018