Like a glove
Her palm fit into mine
I saw her struggling
With the shock
Recognition brought.

We tried to decipher our fate
But saw neither
Its beginning nor its end
The flask has gone out of the djini
Tracing the palm groove…

Ever the palms
Lining our every path
Kissing our everything
Wild trees become a garden, untamed…
A jungle becomes a park, intriguing…

The rivers are wetting the vallies
We clasp hands and become a palm nation.

– Che Chidi Chukwumerije.