City of Mosquitoes

 I can barely sleep in this city,

Shrouded in the discomfort of zooming sounds.

I was running from the death that started overseas

And my strength was sure it could carry me through.

But now I am stuck in this city,

Where I clap my hands repeatedly,

like my soul is under deliverance,

Cursed with a body that continues to snitch on it.

 

I could die before the plague arrives here.

Then I would be an example of unwritten stories,

imagined by generations unborn,

told only to those who care to listen,

that death can still find a quarantined man,

in a city of Mosquitoes.

 

 

 

___

 

Oladeji Mayowa writes plays and poetry from Zaria in northern Nigeria, where he is studying Theatre and Performing Arts at the graduate level. He self-published a poetry collection titled Bleeding Moon in 2019, and has been published in Kalahari Review, and other literary platforms. Mayowa enjoys the trills from silence’s loudness, travelling, pictures and reading. He runs a blog dedicated to projecting art for the benefit of society and can be found on Twitter @penfreaq

 Image credit: Wolfgang Hasselmann/Unsplash