Meditation of…
After Nome Emeka Patrick
I sit beneath a sky that won’t blink
and wonder if I’m enough to fill its silence.
There are no gods here,
only the residue of their names,
clinging to my tongue like smoke.
I offer no prayer, no hymnal body.
Instead, I measure my worth
in the weight of birdsong
and the sound of a river unlearning its flow.
What is salvation if not forgetting?
I’ve walked the roads of my father’s maps,
sought his face in the mirrors of seafoam,
and found only the shadow of a man
who traded his faith for thunder.
Tell me—what language can soften
the jagged edge of a promise unkept?
Once, I dreamed of a god whose name I held in my mouth like a seed, but when I woke, all I
could taste was the salt of unanswered questions. Here, beneath the
scaffolding of heaven, I want
nothing but the song of grief
untangling itself from my throat.
Trust me, I owe no god my soul.
Let my mother’s prayers be enough
to summon the rain.
Let my father’s silence break
beneath the weight of its flood.
I know betrayal. But I know love too, so
Let me become the river that holds
all the things the earth refuses to forgive.
Tonight, I’ll stand at the crossroads,
not as a pilgrim but as a witness,
watching the stars dissolve
into a hymn I cannot sing,
Prayers I dare not say.
Each breath is a letter
I write to the gods I no longer believe in.
I sign it with the roots of my longing,
fold it into the soil, and wait
for the earth to answer.
…..
Poetry © Felix Eshiet
Image: Mohamed_hassan Pixabay remixed