You lie in bed, Starring at the familiar shadows of objects That keeps you company, Listening to the crickets screeching in an unseen corner If you are lucky, You see a cockroach or two.
Everything haunts you when you return home, All the words you kept mute during the day, Plus the words you refused to say. Your mind soars through time and space, Seeking meaning to this loneliness you guise as privacy. Some days you cherish it, Like a pirate adores treasure Other days you despise it Like a saint loathes sin Some days, in the four corners of your home, You couldn't be freer Like a skydiver in the air Other days, it feels like you are locked in a jail cell Serving a life sentence For the crime of seeking early independence.
—Israel Olorunnisola
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