Burning: A Poem by Prosper Ifeanyi

Photo by Peter Yost on Unsplash


On one hand I am an arsonist, setting records
Straight for the unification of the body of a baptisand.

A portending auspice, sauntering through the city walls of
Golgotha and praying louder than a muezzin;

How well do you know the cup from which you drink off?
Have you familiarised yourself with the kitchen politics
Behind kniving and the unsettling whiff of the chamomile tea?

I wrap myself into an effigy, a portraiture of a phoenix
Rising from the ashes anew and holding out my heart
While I chant the ineffable words of sea
Hummm hummm hummm hummm hummm

The cardio-mantra-gram is but a panoply of the
Self, my extrication reinforces my baptisand soul
As a body of cascading water, drawn from the depths
Of melded consciousness and bailed into my skin of fire
And sulphur. In this poem, burning shares synonymy with
Aligning the stars for a night passage. Tomorrow, it
Is that one thing that incendiaries are built to act upon.

Scroll to Top