In every one of my dreams, I am webbed to the ceiling
in the top corner of my room, wrestling with grief.

Of recent, I dreamt about language and in my own 
terms, my tongue ceases to be a tongue.

You who love the acclimation of colours 
would say it ceases to be a chameleon. Not 

in this poem has the confusion of language begun. 
First, it was in Babel, other cities and in my body.

I am only trying to say this dream too is about grief.
How it has configured my body to call light

fire. foe. and any other 'f' word my phylactery
wouldn't allow any of my poems to carry.

I am saying that grief is tucked in the body
of this poem, and has done more damage

to me than the touch of a hailstorm on tendrils.
Can this be called the destruction of a beautiful thing – 

if today I unlace my tongue and swallow it
so it won't speak grief anymore, but glee?

It's dusk. Before the night comes again, I'll have done 
a preparatory surf–– asking the bird named Africa

how she uncoiled the fetters binding her wings
into a straight dealing with God.

About the Poet

Blessing Omeiza Ojo  is the Chairman of Hill-Top Creative Arts Foundation, Abuja. He is a contributor to literary journals with poetry surfacing in The Deadlands, Cọ́n-scìò, Arts Lounge, Split Lip, Olney, Praxis, and elsewhere. He is the mentor behind the birth of several teenage poets, authors and slam champs. His works have been translated into several languages including Yoruba, French and Italian. His literary awards include the 9th Korea-Nigeria Poetry Prize (Ambassador Special Prize), the 2020 Artslounge Literature Teacher of the Year Award, the 2021 Words Rhymes & Rhythm Nigerian Teacher’s Award, and the 2022 Maryam Aliyu Award for Best Teacher (Male). He is presently a creative writing instructor at Jewel Model Secondary School, Abuja, Nigeria.