Ìrònú Tápà

The stars are falling to my feet and I am still asleep.

The morning is rising to the moon and I can’t be awake.

I’m fighting with the ease that bounds me to comfort,

And it is absolutely inconvenient.

It leaves me asking, will I make it?

Will I not?

Will I bake in my strides?

Will I burn?

Tápà, Yé Rònú
what is not known now hides in the shadows of a future