THE MOON

 

By Olayioye Paul Bamidele

 

 

 

 

 

I dreamt, as a growing child 

To see the beauty face of the moon

But my eyes were slow to catch

The half erected moon.

Darkly clouds have swallowed the feathered moon

And the nightjar jeers me to fear, it growled

So I ran inside, to hide under my mama’s skirt. 

And later, when the growling mutilates the air

I peer through the window to see

the luminous head of the moon; bald.

 

 

 

 

Olayioye Paul Bamidele is a Nigerian writer and a student of mass communication. His works have appeared or are forthcoming in Pawner, Atmosphere, SpillWord, and Fiery Scribe Review.