Air filled with hearsay,
That when wind blows speak,
I lead myself out to the hill,
A trial to pick some words.
Climbing high to the top,
Experiencing the strongest,
From there I just see clusters
Of huts, herds and herdsmen.
Of the whispers of gaming kids,
On the beams of the sun setting,
Of the tweets of the hatchlings,
But I am attracted to more beauties.
Of the sky in its golden color,
And the sun as the burning charcoal,
Audible is a voice of the storyteller,
Grandpa wording from his setting.
Telling that story of the Lion King,
I keep ears wide for the chant,
‘Long live loved King’
But flip-flop heard first,
Followed by the loud silence,
Knowing the old friend has gone
This poem was published in the 8th Issue of PoeticAfrica magazine.
Please click here to download.
Read – Under the Night Sky – Oluwapelumi Adesiyan (Nigeria)
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