By Omodero David O.
At the dawn of eventide, the mind carries in its womb
the burden of prayer. I arrive, once again, at the quiet
lake of wonder, where I must tarry upon its solemn bank
and await the light draft of your voice to kiss the water.
Before the bloom of age, the mortal mound of circumstance,
we were but lean lads leaning on the instant’s bliss, grovelling
before sandcastles for fortunes of dust. Before the windows of lust
opened to let in the varied currents of the world, we were but teardrops
in the amnion our mothers, bordered by the fluid essence of a primordial peace.
Yet you, Lord, built our peace and plastered it with wars, left us with
the mystery of the rind to ponder or probe into as we deem fit.
In the dark recesses of the soul, the widening gyre of sin abides still.
The fevering tides return to the shores of the heart like a sick refrain.
Lord, against my own accord, the reins of the wild stallion yet quiver in my grip.
Fickle is the will of man, and fickler, still, the penitent fingers.
I have arrived, once again, at the quiet lake of wonder, behold
the prodigal gait of your beloved, the ache of the legs that return.
Lighten my countenance, my love, before we proceed to dine.
I have spread my blanket on the turf, awaiting the hint of your voice,
the ripple that awakens, in my bones, the Latent light of the divine.
*Note: the italicized lines paraphrase a line from Robinson Jeffers “The Truce and the Peace” and borrows a line from William Butler Yeats “The Second Coming”
BIO:
Omodero David O. is a writer from Nigeria. Recent work has appeared or is forthcoming in African Urban Echoes, Lucent Dreaming, Poetry Sango-Ota, amongst others. He’s an undergraduate student at the University of Port Harcourt.