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On the grass, I seek path to
When stars are stars, boy was a
Boy, and laughter was untaxed.
How far had one travelled
Away from wishes, cartoons nights
And woolly wears.
When fireflies are magic
Not mockery of flames and
swinging rope isn’t cure for
Heavy head.
If I’ve travelled too far to go back;
Then let me be white like moon in innocence.
Let me be high and aglow,
Let me from sprig become
Garden of orchards.
Let birds within my foliage
Spraddle colorful wings.


Hymn of wind among tall green trees,
Plies shrubs in mournful glides.
A bird dreamt, on a branch,
Thin beak turned west.
Compass of crunchy leaves pointed
direction of winds soft song.

Above head of greens, wind traveled
To faraway sea, its song will soon end,
As end, I too sought into the green.
From fumes, and noise of century alive.

Shower of leaves on my shoulder rested
A yoke so light, like feathers, lighter
Than mothers kiss on babies’ dimples
Cuddled within soft blankets.

under the sheets

Green tips kissed golden sun
Shielding floor from stings of rays.
Leaves drifted like boat on calm river.
Dream of bird undisturbed.

Sunlight showed its strength, painting
Mosaic of light among foliage high.
Its bright ink dropping on the floor;
A white light on dark soil, of forest green.

I waited, waiting for the bird to share its
Dream of colorful mate, and grains softly
Sweet. A shrill rendered the silent naked.
The bird jerked, shrilled, and take to wind.


Such dulcet at sunset when ruddy sun
Above weeds set honey bee strumming
Aft juicy sunflowers, this ne-plus-ultra
Of pleasure deserves a painter in his
Heyday, not to foment the moment
In artiest epithet for posterity’s sake,
But fain without vaunting, deify it
Upon canvass; such Xanadu a dell
Bless with a Brooklet in sunlight court,
Russet flowers, silver aspen leaves
Whispers rest.


At dawn, a bird rest on asphalt,
Inertia rest within its wings.
Soon muddy soil will trap
footsteps of early birds.
Silence rules horizon.
No shadow casts on
Sprouting seeds.
Soon wheel of day will roll.
Cold air seeps through wools.
Morning pokes its head
Through cervix of night.
The bird rest on the asphalt-
Soon, wheel of day will roll.

About THe Author:

Owolusi Lucky is a Nigerian Writer. He has published in magazines, anthology, and journals including, Noctivagant press, Crosscurrent, America Diversity Report, Afrorep, Decolonial Passage, arkorewrites, Hallowzine, Overtly Lit, Scars Publication, SweetyCat Press, Dietmilkmag, and others. He shares his thoughts at: Africanmighty.art.blog. Twitter:@mighty_scribe.

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