Father Helpless (Ogu & me)

0330 am. Vocal cord the size of
Eiffel crash. My ears. I
stuff my mouth
with a hand-grenade’s
worth of silence
before a hopeless soldier,
now surrounded, pulls the pin.
Somewhere in diaper-city, a war rages.
Trenches overflow with effluents.
Moonlight cuts us into thin
silver fugues heard
in empty amphitheatres. We echo
so shrill, I swear I thought I heard you.
Now a days, I can’t hear you. I try. The
chasm between banality and grandiosity
is so small, no Feeding Pillow can sleep over it.
Empty bottles, nipples, Feeding Spoon nestle
in the Steriliser’s womb I forgot to turn on. For a brief
moment, there is stillness so white, I thought
I am in a cloud, free-falling into your throat
to embrace vocal cord sketched
in an arc of innocence. Mutual helplessness
and learning is the name of this game. Love was never
really the deficit. Sleep was. Is.