The Another Wind: Poem by Chidinma Ahika

What are those winds
That run like blessed fire
But with potency dazzling cold?
What are those winds
That roll rushing bold
Yet so weak and low?

The mouth-makers that
Polish our eyes with fresh banal;
The new champions that
Weary our longing with faded stews,
And come twirling around
Our eyes with old clothes sewn new,
They are the another winds.

The tales they erect,
We've learned so long a time to suspect,
But the new sweetness of this set,
Holds our hopes against neglect,
For their tongues are devices
That beat the cadavers of all we expect,
To fullness, to form, to flesh.

© Chidinma Ahika.