The Night
Some days, I’m half-dead.
My hands press against my welted skin
against the hungry mouth of mosquitoes.
The room, silent and unconcerned, watches
even when everything dies here.
The bed creaks with twitchy tunes,
my body jerking in response
to another vicious bite.
Against this backdrop,
the moon is out to play again in full,
blistering around the corner,
mocking me with its light.
Light gleaming
through the window.
Short of breath,
short of life.
One eye gapes open.
Reddened palms smacking
each other, the buzz
reducing with each slap.
Ikigai
Open your body to the music
entering this moonlit room.
It arrives on the outstretched
hands of a louvre window,
a breeze bearing more than air.
You’ve bristled long enough in
gloominess. Let the sounds,
dripping honey, pour into you,
until laughter swells and tickles
the corners of the room.
Your face tilts toward the light,
where joy doesn’t mumble
but roars. Your eyes are tender,
unlearning sorrow and seeing
a world rinsed of its grief.
A world where every heart finds its home.
Ferdinand Emmanuel Somtochukwu, Swan XXI, is a young emerging Nigerian poet and essayist. He has works published or forthcoming in Arts Longue, D’ LitReview, Poetry Column, Poetry Sango-Ota, Isele and elsewhere. Connect with him on X @EmmanuelSomto17.
