Echoes

On this road that I walk
I stop and stand awhile
and ask myself, ‘when?’
I ask myself when mountains shall become plain land
and deserts, rolling grasslands.

I thrust my hands deeper
and ask when the sea shall become fields of hay
and all valleys be exalted

Tired of not answering myself,I ask the road
“Tell me,when shall the snail outrun the cheetah
or a flea heavier than an elephant?”
I ask again impetuously,
“When shall trees grow from the sky bearing suns for fruits,
or the sight of deer put lions to flight?”

My questions bounce around and haunt me in
f r a g m e n t e d echoes
it only means one thing:
if swords will become ploughshares
and the steel tips of arrows will become bangles
and the ‘whens’ won’t return like unopened packages back-to-sender
I must see the end of this road.
©Iloh Onyekachi