Today, I walked six weary miles,
more than two long hours beneath the sky,
and I returned home with broken feet—
my right foot trembling with a sharp, relentless pain
each time it touched the ground.
Yet even now, I would call it worth it.
For along that dusty farm road,
the world was singing.
Birds poured their small bright hymns from the trees,
crickets scraped their rough violins in the grass,
and above me the morning stretched wide and blue—
an endless, tender heaven.
The yellow sun climbed out of the east
and spilled gold through the branches,
touching every leaf, every stone, every blade of grass
as if creation itself had been blessed anew.
Far away, the mountains stood in silence
like ancient guardians at the edge of the world.
The air was clean, alive, merciful.
Beauty seemed to breathe from everything around me.
This earth is unbearably beautiful.
So beautiful it almost hurts to witness it.
And though death shouts its threats from every corner,
though time hunts us all without rest,
one small hour here among such wonder
is worth the fear of dying a thousand times over.
And if the mind still wakes beyond the grave,
if some light of us remains after the dark,
then I pray the other side is gentle—
and beautiful too.
© Olatuja Oloyede
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