Midnight On The Road To Lalamata Poem by Patrick Forson

Midnight on the road to Lalamata where fire and blood narrate the path
Shadows wrestle with the fading light

I trek the winding road of tradition,
where ancestors hum beneath my feet.
Then—suddenly—
a midnight sunset strikes my eyes,
darkness blooming with hidden fire.

On Lalamata's dusty, rough-skinned road I dance,
barefoot with memory,
my steps stitched into red earth and time.

The stones crack and cry beneath my weight—
their voices bruise my heart.
I cannot bear their lament,
yet I walk on,
for pain is a toll no traveler escapes.

Above me,
a fleeky, flirking, flying bird
cuts the air like a restless thought,
gliding over a diamond lake
of dark, trembling waters—
yonder, beyond the wonder,
where fear learns how to shine.

I close my eyes.
And beneath the water I see
roots of fruit-bearing pain,
twisting, gripping, nourishing my crossing.
Joy grows there,
fed by hurt,
anchored in depth.

Thus I cross—
not untouched,
but transformed,
carrying tradition on my back
and tomorrow in my breath.

CC BY-NC-ND 4.0