The Metaphysics of an Opus

Today I’m flying low and I’m not saying a word. I’m letting all the voodoos of ambition sleep.

You are out in the open. You like to feel the earth, the terrene of it. Feet pushing deep into sand. Hands, everywhere, a scarecrow to anything in flight/ growth; Soon, you would head out to the garden, sit amidst flowers, spread out like scent, like secret. You love to see flowers open and close, love to see ants line their black bodies____ tiny holds of foods on their heads. Love to see birds introduce their feathers to sunlight, tweet & scuff worm life from topsoil. All that would come later on. Now you are out watching the sun____ it’s pride of tearing through the soft of clouds; such cruelty! How it pry opens a dahlia, an hibiscus, reaching into their core, the better part of them. In the soonest hours, not far from now, the sun will cook and start to smell like desperate. You love all these, “An Opus” that’s what you call it. Night, however, comes like regret, a rue. You sit behind your thoughts and listen to diurnal creatures mutter: their shrieks & creaks like doors closing from far away. The stars above____ stuttering: always too shy, always too serene; little wonder its closeness to God. The wind moving so slow it forgets to offer it hands of cold. Here you are, drooped to a couch, a pocketknife to your hand, trying to skin out that hieroglyph of the palm, that cave markings of evolution: All these get better, be someone. (You never asked to be born.) You smirk: an happy face is a mirror of God. You smirk; waiting out the night.

About the Author

Enotor Prosper is a drummer. He has tutored/is tutoring in Test House tutorials (G.brains), Solid Education Centre, Starbrains Tutorials, Premiere Lectures. His poem and short stories have appeared/forthcoming  in Ethelzine, Young African Poets Anthology(Brittle Paper), Praxis Magazine, Elephantsnever, Pencillite, U-RIGHTS MAGAZINE. Say,”hi” in twitter@NezyorNezy

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