Thursday, 22 May 2014

MAY POEM: Transience


The moon of many years has not aged
Like it was in Oluyole so it is in Ebedi
Covers of clouds sleep around like exiles
To become the dreams of fingers whipping
Hopes on keys, opening doors to desires
Which make windows entrances and exits.

When morning arranges itself at dawn
The dew is a curtain of questions
But once it parts itself to unveil hills
Blanketed by browning leaves
Assuring tomorrow is re-signed.

Each dream, returns naked once fulfilled
And again patterns figured as advances
Become the meaning of restless nights
And mornings that forget evenings.

Singing birds are a cliché of bushes
So what is it with the game of hope,
I see in the traveller’s eyes:
Finding solitude in a hideaway?

January is the metaphor of firsts
Its entrée of prediction is a varnish
Harbouring small sobs and silences

Like evening is the middleman
Between the morning and night
With one dream birthed in full course
As day reinvents itself with strayer dew.

*This poem was written during my stay as an artist-in-resident at the Ebedi International Writer’s Residency, where I worked on a collection of interconnected short stories. 
(c) Jumoke Verissimo

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