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: Africanmighty.art.blog and Twitter: @mighty_scribe and writes from Lagos, Nigeria.