Phoenix

By Olayioye Paul Bamidele

A theory goes: the dead, like the Rose of Jericho, know a thing about regermination. Say, water bears breathing in the soil. Say the flute songs in the bones of patriots. Healing bubbles the way harmattan breeze trifles. All you need to do is gift yourself to season & watch your pared self sinew back. We learn to relive as the phoenix does, after burning in grief. Hope butterflying out of the caterpillar, a snake sloughing out of its hide. The sun spotlights us in the middle of a rabble. The beauty of prisms. When you consider the magic of living, you can unearth the mystery of man. In me, a congregation of sarcophaguses spring out their dead. To be born again is to be renewed. Walking through the waters & watching the waters cascade into your heart. The scripture says, a chapped stump may live again at the scent of water. At the door of this poem, I garden into grace. At the scent of Christ, I become a dove, white as a voiceless paper. I dovetail into the theory of reincarnation. Whatever dies is reborn into a new season.

BIO:
Olayioye Paul Bamidele is a writer, a journalist, and a photographer. His works have appeared or forthcoming in Spillword, Lunaris, Daily Trust Newspaper, Artlounge, Afreecan, Ice Floe, Afreecan, Kalahari, LILAC, SprinNG, Readers Boon, Feral, Black Moon, Eboquills, Brittle Paper, IHRAF, Synchronize Chaos Mag, Kissing Dynamite, Kalahari, UNN, Lolwe, Kreative Diadem and elsewhere. He can be contacted on WhatsApp @(+234)8162573107. Gmail: Paulolayioye@gmail.com