We all sat with the urge to runfrom a house in-between two conflicting townsa man sat with the body of his daughterfloating like a voice drowning in space, before me,he had a bowl full of blood in his palms.You know how it is to have seen a waryour memories may never be delivered from;another man sat on the third rowlike a bird that has come to beg the consulates for wings,how they cast the dreams on their tongueson the nipples of a wandering body.My brother came out of the interview chamberhis spirit came later,he crawled and told me to runthat there are  much more battles than what we run fromthat running from the body of wateris turning to a sea of sandwhere the spirits hovering in redlike the burning flag of state rebelsare waiting to hold our body with their teeth.Biafra and Nigeria are two confused rooms in our housewhy we run is because we cannot find home in these roomsnothing here beckons us to sleep or dreamnot the picture of my mother whose body held the secret of twelve bulletsor the bird trapped in a cage like the song trapped in my boy’s tongue,we run from hunger, from the fear boiling in our gulles,we run from recession,we run from ourselves too.I went into the chamber after the smiling lady exited  without her jawsand i returned with the urge to stayand become the freedom of winds;the will to float and just float, on and onor the urge to try againthe white man on Skype saw too much speed on my tonguehe saw too much breeze in my nosehe saw that I was made of too much feetand said no.I’m not sure what to do next;keep running or just dance?