Weekly feature by: Shola Balogun

It is said that a depressed man,
Fleeing from his homeland,
Lonely in the Eastern night,
Gathered the stones on his path
And made them his pillows,

And seeing the ladder
To the gate of heaven,
He trembled at the mystery of God
And anointed the stones.

I am a depressed man too,

Leaving behind my fathers’ walls
Destitute in the African night.

I keep the stones in my hand
And count them along in every step.

I see the barbed wire
Rising on the high gates
Of the despots and tremble
At the misery of the helpless.