To My Unborn Child
Learn to listen
Between the lines.
but mesmerizing sounds
The word “water”
Is not wet.
There’s nothing depressing
In the sound called “sad”
Bad means good
When the first becomes the last
Read to learn
Beyond the mantra
Learn to read
Behind the words
Free your mind
Before you think
Until you get your drink
Remain doggedly thirsty
My Dear Child
Before you were born—
if you raised your binoculars,
if you could peep
through the keyhole of life
Would you open the door
and walk right through?
Or would you run back
I’ve been excited lately about something.
Yesterday I received the certificate of occupancy for MOYOGALLERIA, Austin, Texas.
I will focus on African art.
We will invite African artists for residencies of up to three months.
We will provide the artist with a living and working space.
As I continue to operate Zoom to teach,
I also begin to reorganize my desk.
This is what my Zoom class/office/desk
now looks like.
The computer energies
from the laptop combine
with the computer energies
from the Opon Ifa
Captive No More (Part II)
3.
When they snatched my grandfather
from the breasts of his mother,
he lacked the language
to grasp or describe
what did happen
and was happening to him
.
In those days,
mothers breastfed their infants
for three solid seasons,
some four, some longer.
Gradually the African art gallery is falling into proper shape.
The art is also ready to go.
But I’m not in a hurry to open the gallery.
I will wait till it’s safe.
ỌDÚN (Year)
Artist: Moyo Okediji
Title: ỌDÚN (Year)
Medium: silicon on canvas
Size: 96″ x 36″
ỌDÚN is a Time Traveler.