Jesse Ojuka

I grow a tree in my soul
Numb monotony sharpens its axe to take a swing
I fled the traffic,
to deepen my roots in the quiet forest
Love for life became a memory,
when I stopped the pour onto myself
How difficult it is,
to remain alive until we die
I perform surgery on myself
I must be revived. Urgently
Before the axe cuts down my tree.