That form never appears with eyes open
It is a feeble thing squinting and writhing
in your arms

There is a flash forward, nights in the cold
and heat; dark contemplation where you
fumble for any trace of light, any ray of
assurance that there is a path to ponder

A destination to attain after this never-ending
rumble with every fresh hour

It is your hope

It is the faith you know but it stands for vapour

It is an alien never known joined as one flesh
increasing by the passing of light

Every herb to heal this defying plague
became nourishment to it
until it showed itself a force for a future,
a seed for a generation

It was the excellence of a mind which minds
would not fathom

Where is reason hidden and how will it
teach for a first time

Where is the path we will blaze

When we come to fullness in knowledge
how is this birthed

Whose eyes first named the mountains

Whose heart first went after the wind

It is what keeps all things known and
unknown, heard and of unheard

It is the lot of kings when they wander
in the wild amazed, it is the meditation
of captives before they come to honour

– Patrice Idoko