When I write the world sleeps
Into a long silence, I use the words
For creation. Breathe flows in the verses
As a stork swinging on buoying lyrics
I wonder what the night whispered
When I am not here and when I am there
The weightless solitudeness of my ribs
Push for evergreen leaf, as a bulb onions
Smiling beneath the ground, shouting joy, joy, joy
For the ransom is paid as rhythm and rhyme
If the form is a 3D shape in hydrophobic wheels
Then the psychiatric wheels tolls and toils
Like the lost temple bell inside a Vatican pond
If I failed to create my world in my verses
I betrayed the creator of my soul and heart
Then my eyes will feel the bitterness of being here
Like a nerd in a state of dwindling coffin, I am yanked
O silken, the silky eyes swollen in a swallow nest
Then the thread that throes through life is death
Happy is this passage like a loose cauldron I became
Foolishness fills all my days, my wisdom is unshared
I so much believe in one thing it’s the power of the night
I conquer and change the tides that generate my day
I use my angel as a poniard to have my breath stay
I would be heard for I paid the prize of my beingness
& the speculation of being there is an appealing balm
Many would soothe her healing power and live inside
A charming chemistry that takes venoms from a serpent
I sometimes wished to be in a coffin, viewing my dark home
How sublime is my passage as a laughing cloud in a time
A state of perfect ending inside the threshold of being here
Each opens the effective door of going there
Surmise by life experiences as they occurred in seconds
The joy of being here or being there all solidifies joy in me
~Martin Ijir
Nigeria