I tread on a century of dead leaves
watching dead roots dissolving into
fresh foliage. I find you in a story of
freshness. Bone strong like alphabets
healthy like a syllabic vowel. With this
country full of denied dreams &
scattered families, Abeni will you be
my homestead, instead? My clean farm
to weed with pleasure? My swept path
to tread every dawn?
I would dash into the forest & cut stakes.
I would dash into the grassland & cut vines.
I would bear pains to build a befitting shrine
some gods may not answer their people
but you rhapsodize me with malted mountains,
verdant valley, beads of heavens & a forever