January 16, 2018by Dami Ajayi

Tuesday Poem Special by Emmanuel Iduma

I have tried to be
a magician
crossing seven seas
and oceans,
having reputed talisman
from India and Bahrain:
but I am here
in this room I made
twenty years before.

I took upon the thought
of visiting the moon during
my honeymoon,
placing a self-made flag
and claiming to my sweetheart
how wonderful it is:
but I have never left
or felt another existence
except the feather on this wall.

It is not presumptuous to think
that I could write a masterpiece,
along glorious shelves my name
to be found, to speak as though
I held a vial that ran the world,
and move around countries
with ease: but this typewriter
placed on this table last century
has grown clumsy, with friction.

To think I have become this,
a self-cursed man, riding terribly
in mistakes of final years,
to think I can watch the ocean
fading, and be void of tears,
to think I have no finger to hold
a pen; to think all these
and remain sane, alive,
I am without words and grateful.

I​’​ll look no further
I​’​ve found a place.


First published in “The Economy of Sound” Saraba Magazine’s first poetry chapbook, 2009.