Today, again, I wake up — a truck
Contemplating which highway to take.
Though aware I am that all the roads
Lead nowhere, my feet, carved
To re-walk wind-washed paths, must
Obey the decree of the supreme verdict.
Many days, I find myself tucked in the
Garment of bewilderment—seeking the face
Of she who pronounces the supreme verdict,
Finding the highway with fewer potholes,
And seeking peace for the confused truck I am.
I’m in a place on the border of finding the lips
Of the being speaking me into forms and
Formlessness. I’m in a place outside the grey
Map of thought. I’m in a place I don’t know
Where, and my heart is erect, thrusting,
Breaking into the walls of longing. I am a truck
Contemplating— “who is riding me like this?”
is a writer and Dervish from New Bussa, Nigeria. In his writing, he explores Sufism, history, language and demystification of love and desire. He loves beans and coffee.