Lands where night gives
More hope than dawn.
At early light thousands
Of crows fly past in the sky
Squawking, as if fleeing
Related articles:
A catastrophe that is here.
It seems a hurricane rips at
Their wings. Great hordes
Blotting out the heavens.
Like a biblical plague or curse
They create a raucous din,
Scratching the sky. One fears
Something unthinkable about
To happen. All this sensed
In the deep trough of sleep.
I haul myself out of bed,
Stumble to the window.
They fly, exhausted, from
The ends of the earth to bring
A message to their king.
I watch them wavering as if
They could fly no longer
And I am reminded of refugees
Fleeing carnage or genocide
Who can walk no further
But trudge on beyond the limits
Of human strength, just to escape
That which can’t be passed on
In stories. I think of my child
Sleeping downstairs and hope
That whatever news the birds bring
Never touch the smooth space
Of her destiny, and that her spirit
Remains for ever calm,
Even in the dance and tumult
Of the years. The sound
Of traffic grows louder.
The swarm of crows has gone.
The marketplace yammer
Of their voices still perplexes
The mind. I try to return to
sleep, with the uneven
Rooftops haunting the dawn.
Ben Okri's most recent collection is A Fire in My Head (Apollo)
Illustration by Chris Riddell