Delight Chilegide Olumati

I am not afraid to question home,
nor worried about taking control.
I am not a traveller lost in his compass,
nor a dancer found in silence.
I am not a song without rhythm,
nor a verse without meaning.

A poem for our questions.

Who made purpose, and for what?
Who made the songs unheard?
Could I be the one that slips through fingers,
reaching for sound, the echo of a life not lived,
yet felt in every heart?

Am I the question?
Am I the answer waiting to unfold,
or a story untold?

Why am I?

A poem for our journey.

I heard that poems are people
lost in letters, waiting to form art,
and roads are those people
we’ve kept some love with.

And so, I continue, guided not by answers,
but by the questions that shape me.

When the journey ends, will I know
what I was made for,
or will I simply be the traveller,
wandering still, carrying the weight
of everything I have ever been?

What if the meaning was never the destination,
but the endless asking, the becoming,
the gentle unravelling of all I thought I was?