Photo Credit: Jared Rice on Unsplash

In a small town
of untared streets
I learnt my best

lessons in the sand –
in the chirping crickets
of the full moon,

in the smoking
thatch of straw
over a brick enclave.

Like fields, tilled, I
bent to supple form
and played the flute.

In the city
the horn warns
of the coming train

like it was to arrive
in the news
cast yesterday.

Fortunes of fate
in the rain,
I learn again;

to wait
To hope,
Like the farmer –

In faith,
the patient, sick,
in natural salves,

without oxygen masks,
learns to heal
from within.

Featured Image Credit: Jeremy Bishop on Unsplash

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Olutomi Akinsanya

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