by Salawu Olajide
At the back of the yellow container
is the makeshift reception
for the dreamers waiting for the train
in this brown-roofed town.
The harmattan has not arrived,
but I can feel its breath far away
in the dryness of my lips
in the rattling of the leaves
in the breaking of my skin.
We seek new roads for life here
because others are bruised with potholes
and children get drowned in their waters.
All of us are gathered this morning
to witness a new grace for my country
at this station that leads to the heart of Atlantic.
Across the sky, God makes faces
as we stand apart
like pieces of Chinese characters.
SALAWU OLAJIDE is a lanky Nigerian man and an Àmàlà advocate. He thanks the Oxford Review of Books for featuring him.
Art by Maddy Clegg