This Night That Knows No Sleep

When Mary lost her virginity,

Jesus’ cry woke the night

And sleep fled the night’s eyes.

The Magi followed stars that

Suffered silence as
Gifts rocked the manger of the babe—Jesus.

From then till now, nights in Kingston

Are like days that defy meditations—

To feel the void and calmness that keep the night.

Yet, night is awake as the day.

But, who would blame the night?

Does it own itself?

Its owner is God who came as man

And killed its sleep before mortals—

God is both night and day—and I, a peripatetic poet whose

Solitude is lost to night’s mystery of wakefulness.

This night that knows no sleep,

Is yours the sleep that makes death an eternal journey?

This night that knows no sleep,

Is yours the sleep that soothes a fetus?

This night that knows no sleep,

Is your spit in the bite of tsetse flies?

This night that knows no sleep,

Is your sleep the song that scents the throne of God?

There’s no night in London and The City of Light—

As both night and its sleep are in God’s briefcase.

© Echezonachukwu Nduka 2014

Image: Echezonachukwu Nduka

Photo Credit : Michael Yipake Bansey