NOT IN THE TAKLAMAKHAN

Read Time:1 Minute, 57 Second

I.
In hunt for self,
My metatarsals budged, alert
My spirit trudged on to the Taklamakhan;
The land of ruins
The city of death

Beseeched
By the preoccupation of the hunt for purpose;
The hunt for my Achilles mitochondrion

Locals whisper
Albeit obstreperously
That I am a blind peacock
A deaf mosquito, even

But the heavy humming of my heart
Heartily hovers over their hasty lies
I think

II.
In the city of Xinjiang
In the rain-shadow of the Himalayas
Taklamakhan lies, in wait
With the Kunlun and Pamir mountains
Standing sentries at separate poles
And its fraternal twin, Gobi
Crouched quietly in the East

Here, the moon’s half-sister
Glares down on arénam
Like a high-sky deity
Furious at her followers
Who cringe at her intense gaze

Here, the roaches that traverse my heart
Are scorched and scattered
And singed and scattered.
Here, their souls float effortlessly
Like the liberal feathers from a rebellious fowl
Plundered by a hungry plumber

III.
Scorched sand-dunes shift swiftly
Under the siege of the Northeast trade wind;
Chastising even more my feeble adrenal gland

My parched tongue doubts
the will of my baked throat;
Saliva from my visual balls
coerce me into seeing grainy phantoms and lakes
All mirages
Oases don’t thrive here

IV
Upon the cross-desert highway
Once ruled by the Tang dynasty
Linking Hotan to Luntai, I crawl
Enraged by my folly
Weakened by my imprudence
Unable to cogitate

I have since left the armadillos
And jackrabbits and cacti behind
I lie near Hades at my own mercy
The Taklamakhan
Holds not the soothing spring
Of the naïve lad’s yearnings.

*arénam- latin word for sand
*The Taklamakhan – a desert in Northwest China

*This is a continuation of the poem titled, A Mug Of Espresso (Winner of WRRPoetry poem of the Week).
*Dedicated to Kukogho Iruesiri Samson who said to me six months ago, “You can try writing poems too. It’s not as hard as you think.”

Written by: Darlington Ekene Ogugua
Edited by: Kukogho Iruesiri Samson