Skip to main content

The Icarus Flight

They came from the sky like a hunter’s arrow,
Our dead brothers, they never saw it coming,
How shall we explain to their children tomorrow,
This tale of a falling bird killing Earth-bound men.

Gracelessly, they fell from the troubled skies,
When the wax on their wings melted mid-flight,
In our mind, we can almost hear terrified cries,
Silent screams echoing into the pitch black night.

We smell burning flesh when we close our eyes,
We know not their names but we hear their cries,
Our dreams are haunted by their nameless faces,
Their story forever tattooed on our heavy hearts.

Which god or man keeps them up in flight?
Which god or man failed us on that night?
For this senseless loss can’t be blamed on chance,
So tell us which sun god knocked Icarus from the sky.

We’ve defied our limits; we’ve dared the gods,
We’ve achieved the impossible, shown it can be done,
Our wings have touched the skies, against all odds,
But sometimes like Icarus, we fly too close to the sun.

*****June 5, 2012*****
 
- On June 2, 2012, a cargo plane crashed and landed on a bus in Ghana. Everyone in the bus died, the crew of the plane survived.

- Icarus in Greek mythology flew too close to the sun melting the wax that held his wings together causing him to crash

This poem is dedicated to the people on the bus

Popular posts from this blog

They Don't Teach us how to Grieve

They don't teach young men How to grieve.

Be a man, Stand strong, Men don't cry, They say.
That's how we are made.
Somewhere, There's a conveyor belt Constantly chucking out Boys, with pent-up toxic emotions, Shoulders hunched under the weight of society's expectations.
There's a piece of wood in my mouth I bite hard on it praying I don't black out As I saw off another weakness I saw in the mirror.
Something about Better to enter the Kingdom With one arm...
I don't know...
A brother died today,

Bats at 37

When bats at 37 take to flight, At a quarter past four Or, whatever time Accra heralds the night,

When bats at 37 take to flight, For me, there's not a more beautiful sight Of creatures, imagined or real, That lay claim to these glorious skies.

When bats at 37 take to flight, With fevered screeches that punctuate the night When by sheer numbers they darken the skies And, below, people of a superstitious disposition Can not be bothered, I am reminded that, Given enough time all things cease to be strange.

When bats at 37 take to flight, Devoid of vibrant plumes unlike most things that fly, Rising like Legion and the hordes of hell, In defiance of extermination attempts, Above the Hospital in elusive figurativeness, Haphazardly, in sync, over constipated traffic There is not a doubt who owns the peppered night.

When bats at 37 take to flight;

Finding God

The inexplicable
Is proof there's a God.

This, for me,
Is where doubt began.
For if we know today
More than we did yesterday
Then, God is
a constantly contracting chamber of ignorance.

Now if it is so
And God is the Lord of gaps
Then men of religion
May be forgiven
For their unrelenting battle
Against knowledge;
The God Killer.

But if God is
the beginning of wisdom
And his people perish
For lack of knowledge
And if we know today
More than we did yesterday

Then it stands to reason
That the God to believe in
Is an ever-expanding explosion of knowledge.

I have no faith
In the God of gaps
For God must be Omniscient
And ignorance is not
This, for me, is where doubt ends.

*****April 22, 2017*****