Last dawn, as Mama gasped on the shore
I asked her what transcendence means:
She says it is when your footprints on the shore
Buries you in, and the ocean’s pulse incessant
Digs you up and feeds you to the fishes.
Last dusk, as Papa sat buried under
The shadow of the hungry candlelight:
He says transcendence is when he sails to sea;
When big women pile after him like ants,
Wailing, crying, and pouring dust on his coffin.
Transcendence happens when you
Bury your flowers on the open field,
To grow until when all evil’s wrought
And the wailing of mourners receding –
And you grow headstones and writes epitaph on them.
Today, I sit at sea, memorizing the sneaking sun.
I expect to see my father tossed by the ocean’s pulse:
I wish to see Mother dancing homewards;
But all I see is the crouching sun and I feel
The wind caressing my skin as Mother does,
And patting me like Father does.
At night, they walk in through the wall,
Dancing gently, gently, homewards.
ADEPOJU ISAIAH GBENGA, a teen writer from Osun State, was longlisted for the African Writers’Awards and Wakinni Kuria Awards (2020). His works has been published nationally and internationally and is forthcoming on Mystery Publishers Anthology Kenya and Ebedi International Writers’ Residency Nigeria. He’s an Editor and Advocate at Tribesmen House, a state coordinator at Praxis Hangouts and an Editor at Writers Global Movement Nigeria Chapter.