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DEAD MEN

I was told dead men tell no tales,
Yet everyday, words flow out of my mouth,
Drowning the city gate that barred my mind,
A rose bud successfully birthed by thorns.

I do not understand how dying seems terrible,
When a dead man is a man on a journey through self discovery,
Allured by a piece of canvas ahead,
Bearing brush strokes of a painting termed “future”

Not tamed by whips divinely cleaved,
Nor shredded by sharp claws of language,
A naked soul arrayed in layers of ethnic linen,
Travelling in time but not with time.

Death is not an aisle of deafening silence,
Lying waste like a desolate beach,
Death is me a voyager free from a slave ship,
Yes, dead men tell tales.




Benjamin Oku is a native of Cross River, Nigeria, who currently lives in Calabar where he’s carrying out his undergraduate study on Genetics and Biotechnology in University of Calabar. Born into a family of four, he already set out a distinct path for himself into the future.

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