If I could find the route
that leads to the ladder where I can
climb to the sun - to the highland in its
blotch surface, where I heard becomes
cooler as one goes higher, I will relocate.
(I guess the routes are hidden with the
imaginary lines of the tropics.)
I heard there is a garden in the sun.
In it, I will pluck different flowers and name
them after my dead friends. I heard
of the rampart and the glass house — in there
I will watch the earth orbit around
I fight sleep off my eyes as
grandfather explain how the sun is
black, white, brown, red and all the colours
of the world mixed together. I only see yellow.
I only see
yolk of a boiled egg.
Our bones are meant to outlive our skin.
I am headed to the sun this afternoon
to negotiate for your freedom
when I get there,
I hope God does
not live far away.
Hussain Ahmed is a Nigerian writer, a lover of arts and a welder of words. His poems are published or forthcoming in Atlas Poetical, Shot Glass Journal, Yellow Chair Review and elsewhere.