You chant, plead and pour libations on tethered stones,
call forth lost gems trampled beneath desecrated soil
while palm trees wave to dried up sappy sap.

Amulets are but charmed wishes, imaginary
baits of  burnt out fretful fishermen.
Treasures are only worth a dime to the hungry.

Listen to yourself converse as the sky sleeps,
watch Abiku make a journey called déjà vu
Feel the breath of a tired blaring migrant ferry.

We detest decayed food and empty shells,
leavings from tight-wad blundering ancestors,
your attempt to dance to hushed unclothed tunes.

We refuse to mediate between losing and the lost,
the harrowing  pilgrimage of one out in left field.

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Lind grant-Oyeye was born in Nigeria. She has published individual poems in several countries and also published a short collection of poetry: “The Gift: Twelve Days of Christmas”. Her poem M-moments recently won the international human rights poetry award from UHRSN, a human rights organisation.