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By Owolusi Lucky

PROMPT—During Covid-19 ...

To them whose fathers are dust,

To them whose mothers are soil,

To them who gave sons to root,

To them whose daughter lies beneath

Stones, and those rings now buried in dirt,

I say to you: Count us all that walk kins,

We struggled in waking, soil clinging

To our fingers is heavier than iron,

Their ashes cling in melancholic feast.

To those kin in isolation, making daily

Smoking hecatomb, we twain, for my heart

Isolate In frightening womb, be brave.

To those centaurs without sword or bow,

Heroes under whose flimsy cloaks

Humanity shelters "Gracias"

To the undying locust, how deep

Your ugly belly

To those who said earth load was heavy,

Do you see the ocean smiling,

Or grasses laughing?

To you I affirm, though winter cometh

Like rage of Polyphemus

We are Ulysses!


Owolusi Lucky is a Nigerian writer. He has published or has work forthcoming in magazines, anthology and journals including Noctivagant press, Crosscurrent, America Diversity Report, Afrorep, Decolonial Passage, Scars publication, macromicrocosm, Dietmilkmag, Sweetycat Press, Overtly Lit, and others. He shares his thoughts at: and Twitter: @mighty_scribe and writes from Lagos, Nigeria.


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