Blood summed with union,
Entire hope for the desperate million,
Dreamt of a hone monument,
Raptured darkness with disappointment.
Faraway, in the forest,
Mazed birdwatch as they race,
Longanimity building a menage,
Gamboled Skylark unaware of its old age.
Only the hymn and their voice,
Successive accenting poise,
Accompanied pianissimo by ‘middle C’
Striking higher octaves as my heart see.
On the spur of the moment,
Drove back geared to embarrassment,
Not the Happy Valley native,
But a fate of sinless captive.
Maybe American in nature,
This tender thought of immature,
Complimented on the prisoner shore
Of what else could be more?
-Akumnaro Ozüküm
BA English, 6th Semester