Image by Chesna from Pixabay

TO A FEATHERING LADY

In clumsiest of weathers,
I have become none but a feather
Plucked by a solemn wind
From the nest of a bird
And sent gliding
Through the night’s chill air.
In case a lady,
Strolling through
An empty park picks me
When there are no flowers
To ease her itching fingers.

My dear lady,
Softly, pick my delicate bones.
And if you ever find my soft plumes
Soaked up on the soggy terrace
Lend it pardon
Enough to ease its pain.

And if you arrive early—
Early before the winds send me wavering
Grow your eyes to a tree’s height.

And if you ever find me
When the winds pluck
Me yonder from a bird’s nest
Be a dog and after me, run
Like a child does for a kite.

And when you catch me
Dote on me like a lioness
Does to her cub in the wake
Of winter’s unfavorable frost.

Find me in earnest, dear lover.
Find me in the winds, a gliding feather.





Nsikan Hilary has previously been published on Praxis Magazine and has a forthcoming publication on Dreich magazine. He is a native of Akwa Ibom state, Nigeria. A student writer and currently residing at Ikot Ekpene.

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