a little psalm of David
floating in the air,
the mouth of a vicar dancing
on a pulpit with sermons,
sermons like wings
flying and perching on hearts
of men – I, my sister
& other worshippers,
like a bookmaker
shooting his pen on a coupon
life is a war and everything
within is a weapon.
the tongue of men is an incubator
hatching fire like eggs
I’ve thrown eggs at a building
hoping for it to catch fire,
burn and leave just ashes behind
but anytime I do
shadows of my father and mother
grow big from their roots like flames
I’ve dug the walls of this building
to see worshippers and not ashes
but it appears to me that the birds,
trees and sea remained the
things living as immortals after every worship.
Ebenezer Adaramodu Zerry is a writer of songs, collector of crotchets and painter of words. He seldom punches the earth for a plate of pounded yam and a bowl of Isapa soup. Among other nouns, he is a Tiger. His works have appeared on Kalahari Review, PIN Quarterly Journal 7 & 8, Praxis Magazine, African Writer, Dwartsonline, Agbowo and Tribute to Okeogu.
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