the sea swallows a dinghy
pulling it to its bed in daylight
they say 54 migrants were onboard
squeezed like an overloaded cargo
the coast guards say 25 bodies so far
25 dreams submerged into the sea’s belly
the other bodies yet un-recovered are probably
floating back to their sub-Saharan depots
migrants are hungry for heaven
but the sea is hell
the sea is hungry for bodies
its watery ego to swell
their bodies fed with so much sea
bob up off the Canary Islands
their bodies fattened with the saltwater
of fatality lie still, swelling with
an eagerness to live, to do, to say
sometimes a still body says more
than an encyclopaedia could ever.
offshoots of the unknown
our forefathers were uprooted from
their homesteads and forced onto ships
bodies robed in chains, commodities
transported across the Atlantic Ocean
the Sahara shocked by the spate of blood
forced down its gullet could only stand
at the shore, soaked in dirges
waving them into the unknown
the Atlantic’s appetite has always been
insatiable, so those that succumbed
to illness or rose in resistance were
flung overboard to appease it, sometimes
death is the surest path to freedom
their bodies butchered by sharks, the
seabed their gravestone where their bones
have been curated by curious tides, their
ghosts forever trapped in its belly wailing
to be taken back home so they can die
properly, die finally, because the journey
of the Atlantic is truly an endless one
our forefathers were uprooted from
their homesteads and forced onto ships
but now we’re uprooting ourselves
from our homelands and forcing ourselves
onto dinghies waiting to be swallowed
by the Atlantic, our bodies robed in
the dream-waves of illusion
the Sahara stripped by the shame
of what we’ve become, looks away
as we depart the shore
the Atlantic is a glutton salivating
for our bodies, eager to bury
its teeth in our bones, some say
the Atlantic is a museum of trauma
because it still bears in its veins
our forefathers’ faces and groans
when it strangled their breaths
no matter how hard it has tried
to wash them away
no matter how hard it has tried
to erase the pictures of goriness
so, often, it whirls in anger
and our dinghies are at its mercy
as it capsizes them: bodies, bodies
and more bodies pile like storey buildings
off the Canary Islands, at the mercy
of coastguards and the Fortune Bell
those who’re not eaten by the sea continue
the journey, the journey of the unknown
the endless journey of exile.
Brief Bio
Osieka Osinimu Alao is a Nigerian academic and writer. He holds an MA in Creative Writing from Anglia Ruskin University, Cambridge. His scholarly articles have appeared in Dutsinma Journal of English and Literature (DUJEL), Gadau Journal of Arts and Humanities, and is forthcoming in European Journal of Literature, Language and Linguistics Studies. His poems have appeared in Requiem Magazine and The Web Poetry Corner and are forthcoming elsewhere. His short story was one of the 200 longlisted entries for the 2019 Commonwealth Short Story Prize. His social media handles are: twitter @osiekaosinimu; instagram @osiekaosinimu; facebook – Osieka Osinimu Alao.
