By Oyinlola Omowonuola

Sometimes in our lives, we stumble on a hill and get stuckedSometimes in our words, we puzzle on letters with the most fanciful penSome days, amidst our sojourn, nothing ingestable seems to be enough,A point where the nerves gasp for urgent directions with a heavy alarm

Sometimes, symbols of infinite joyride seem merciless before our own eyeA juncture we can’t distinguish between smart philosophy and a potent poemJust like the trials of a nursing mother, a message of perfection appears cloudyNonetheless, the skin of tiger shall always find its colourful shine in the darkest night

My beloved, more than a hundred friends, you areMore than a group of spirits you are bestowed principality,A thunder that calms a communal odyssey in a single minuteA warrior that purges golden water when the rain has not yet fallen

This is the sublime ambience of your company, it is like a petal that prettifies the driest weedThis is the benign touch of your soul, it is like an iron that magnetizes the lightest woolWithin the episodes of your silence, millions of breadths are lost to the call of 911Within the passages of your utterance, uncountable threads of oneness are built

Here is a story, a bizarre chronicle of a mind and a mind wedged like a starThis is a new story, yet a strange version of long lost historical narrative.A juncture of questions upon questions arise, “where does a lightening come from?”I would soliloquy “will this lead to a life of fortune or a familiar death”

Hear my truth, your balance is but an enormous dimensionYour string is nothing compared to an inferior octopus in actionWith your tender fellowship, my quarantine is unconsciously burriedWith the you in you, the me inside of me knows no hiding place

The knowledge of you came when I never askedThe revelation of our friendship appeared when I wasn’t searchingYes, i’m under a bulb right now, composing a poem in a pool of aimless wonder,Writing to the principality of oneness, disguised in a hallowed native nonchalance

Truth be told one more time , I could go on and on, unveiling trending realitiesActualities full of burns from inside and freaky evaporations from outsideBunch of absoluteness that makes the nerves dormant in periodic silence while it claims its own fame.”You might just die or probably see your weak self in another word” – a voice would whisper.

But genuinely we know that sometimes in our lives, we start a fire of palaver that only takes the end of the universe to quenchSome days, amidst our quest for meaning, we take a chance to stay or fairly move onThis is my epistle , a bizarre chronicle of a mind and a mind wedged like a starYet, deep down I know that sooner or later, the king will find its crown, while the sun embraces its apportioned destiny.