These poems

i am not called to glitz nor
glamour – i won’t survive the stare.

when the crowd is gone,
and the dust is settled –
you would find me crawling,
that’s when i come alive.

if you look for me in a poem
you’ll never find me there
poetry is a type of escaping
it is a door that opens
another door, and on and on.

i know that no wave can wash
away the prints i will leave
behind. my words are like
words from a prophecy, they will
come to pass, surely.

Victor Oyedele