The world is a kind of desert,
And I am a bird seeking solace therein.
I found an oasis in my mother’s belly,
Nine months of crimson bliss
And three years blooming in the nursery of life.
Seven years of walking without shoes
Taught me how to play with fire
Without catching grenades for burns.
I bought my first sandal at eight
The same day I won the war against conscience.
Where I came from, men are demigods
Masculinity with guts that know no bounds.
The boys who left home never returned
Until they built legacies, bought cars,
Owned mansions and hop on heels without slipping.
I am one of those boys yet to return,
I still have the street falling off my palms.
My hands deep in the dirt, making steady figures,
Buying myself antidotes to loneliness,
For times, there are, when fire burns low,
Clouding my bloodstreams with cold smokes.
The night remind me of the battles I lost,
And my dead dreams whose ghosts still haunt me.
Days remind me of prayers that gave me up to the storms,
Leaving me lost in a world that has no map.
Dawns and twilight remind me of times
When I had my head submerged in the clouds.
Stars and starlets remind me of small victories
That are not enough to engrave my name in history.
The memories of home: the famine in my father’s farm;
Thirst in my mother’s throat; dearth in her pot
And my grandmother’s tongue where my name never dies
Remind me of one thing that survived the thorns
My one billion dollar dream.
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