Image by Bartek Zakrzewski from Pixabay


Father’s house used to be a sweltering chalice of riven harmony
Where dreamlands are but marshy playgrounds for wounded kids
We could have played football but for the boys who found a map
And shadowed its contours to a captured town, below blue feet
When our hearts sheltered young demons in their guest rooms
We found salvation in lanky rawhides, punitive like nursing dogs
And cloudbursts of proverbs come sweeping away their cadavers
The ones we left decomposing outside the gates of dead memories

Mother’s arms used to be a prayer city, a holiday resort for crazy boys
And girls trying to bring home conquered gods, drunk in cupid’s rum.
This kitchen once seduced seraphs, looking in longings for her amiedi
And the perfumes from elderly pots pregnant with liquid happiness
Mother’’s mouth was the bank of a river where we sat picking seashells
Of beautiful dreams, listening to songs of the river birds like serenades

But today I come finding home like a morsel in the mouth of silence
Memories swallowing the map of a burnt country alongside its flag
Earth sustaining new wounds from the mounds cuddling her kindred
Mother! your children are still searching for the map to a wrecked home
While salvaging your lover’’s name from the fragments of a burning flag

Franklyn Orode is a creative writer from Nigeria. He is a graduate of civil engineering from the University of Benin. He sees poetry as a way of finding momentary escape from the vicissitudes of life. Franklyn’s works have been published on Eboquills, SprinNg, poetry cooperative, PIN, WRR and elsewhere. He is the curator of the covid-19 themed poetry anthology “EARTH ON A WHEELCHAIR” and also the author of “ASHES OF ORANGE DREAMS” his first published poetry collection. Franklyn writes from Lagos and wherever his engineering practice takes him.

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