Janus: Ehm..hi guys? I had to show up here. Somehow. How’s your..?
Janus: Okay, okay..today’s offering is Teleola’s. The next voice you shall hear is hers.
from my bed too short, from my blanket too narrow.
We have turned, again, to the sun
and the tears fall as the dawn breaks.
like a mouse’s pulse.
Unlike Atlas I know not my sin
but like him I carry it all
all on scrawny stunted shoulders.
Weak, frail, forsaken
Yeshua, save me.
I tilled my land and spread my oats
spring in step I cast my seeds.
The sun came and turned green brown
the sun came and burned it all down.
I fell seven, stood seven and some
seven and some miserly inches.
Dark tunnels, too far their lights
this dark tunnel, an ending not in sight.
Head bent, I asked when it will end.
A nudge on my knee
lifting my head, a figure is before me
“What is this tug on my sleeve?
Little girl, who are you, what is this pull?”
She pulls me through memories of times past and the journey to my here.
Of course I am human.
She leads me to my bed, now, not so short
my blanket, now, not so narrow
singing odes that lull me to sleep
while I dream dreams long forgotten.
I am in awe of what she can do.
This little girl called Hope.
Nitor translates to Hope, in some arcane language I think.
GOD Bless Nigeria.