I am looking for a story to take home
One which speaks of my escapades in a whole
Light enough to fit into a gift box
I am looking for a story to take home
To you my friend
Whose home has become a living hell
Replaced by the fantasies of overseas
You wonder
What could be yonder?
How much do you ponder
If you’ll go under?
Drowning
The Sea is cold in this part of the world
And fences awaits your welcome
If you are not fished out by dawn
I am here to tell you a story
Far from home
Far from what you have been told:
Movies are fictions
Television only a fool’s vision
Up here, we are slaves shackled by our inventions
Confused by the sight of our shadows
As our towers tower above us – suppressing, suffocating
We are not blind, our visions are just blurred
We can see the end of the world
We are saving up for it
By the blood of the many whom we oblige to die our deaths for us
Shed our tears for us
Let no bling blind you
You are who you are
Not where you are
Breathe life into your bones
Bath in nature’s endless showers
And you will see it working for you from your doorstep
Be alive at all mornings
And the night will not leave you lonely
The ladder is a rung at a time
It will be wrong to assume it’s all rosy
When in fact you are the Rose
I have journeyed a long distance with this
Here, it is for you
And there, on the side of the box it says:
“To you my beloved friend, a little souvenir, far away from home”
© Emeka Okereke, The Hague, 21 Feb. 2011
