Dede, boyed to silence, thrashes the earth in mouthed struggle

there is so much to take

away from Life’s Pottery

from life’s poetry

the seedlings germinate and push

umbilicals into frail palms

during creation, as gods played gimmicks,

i spittle self into water;

carve names on stones

and stone the ground to ground my existence.

Ancient Days, is this not love that eagers my wheels

for distance. for this road’s destination.

Spirit me far

From the grave’s whisk

Its suddenness

and the calmness of a common life which terrifies me.

these days I watch

as time outdoes all I’ve garnered as the Unmoved.

i ask what life is

if not this thoughtless toil and thrust;

a rhythmic complexity

in a dream we cannot not make sense of.                   

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Orjichukwu Chikamobi Golding, assistant editor of the Muse No. 50, studies English and Literary Studies at the University of Nigeria, Nsukka. Aside being torn between understanding life and living it, Chikamobi believes in pantheism, the fluidity of truth, and reincarnation of the soul. He writes bad poems once in a while when he’s not tweeting or teaching about blockchain tech.