FLEE, I’LL PURSUE

The moon of dawn monitors

The voyage of travellers

From the North to the South, From the West to the East

Along the latitudinal and longitudinal

Lines of geo-graphical calculation Within the winds, between spaces, And upon crooked roads on

The baldish cranium of the earth.

Ah, my eyes are strongly fixed

Upon the spans of your steps

Just as the tents of earth are constantly

Pitched upon the pillars of water.

Now, like an allergic gardener, Bid me away – a mephitic

He-goat, polluting the nourishment

Of fresh air in your pleasant pasture.

But, look, I shall stand dauntless here like

Moses’ rod before the Israelites at the red sea.

Frown at me as the draconian drought

Which petrifies the prestige of plants

On a plane platform of proud plantation. But then will I smile in response

As the stars, aloft the enigmatic edifices

Of darkness upon the darkened skull

Of the universe.

Suffer not your feet to flee as Sisera: For as Barack, I shall pursue.

Slam a mighty stamp of silence Upon my garrulous sermon, Only then will I, in thought, With the utmost certainty,

Re-cognise the crucial cushion

Which hosts your hips in my melting mind.

BY:  Ògúnyọmí Israel Abídèmí