By Iloh Onyekachi 6 months ago



On this road that I walk

I stop and stand awhile

and ask myself, ‘when?’

I ask myself when mountains shall become plain land

and deserts, rolling grasslands.


I thrust my hands deeper

and ask when the sea shall become fields of hay

and all valleys be exalted


Tired of not answering myself,I ask the road

“Tell me,when shall the snail outrun the cheetah

or a flea heavier than an elephant?”

I ask again impetuously,

“When shall trees grow from the sky bearing suns for fruits,

or the sight of deer put lions to flight?”


My questions bounce around and haunt me in 

f   r   a   g   m   e   n   t   e   d     echoes

it only means one thing:

if  swords will become ploughshares

and the steel tips of arrows will become bangles

and the ‘whens’ won’t return like unopened packages back-to-sender

I must see the end of this road.


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