“Broken boys are pallid rooms full of horror.
Their skins are scriptures of scars…”
MEMORY AS AN ALLOTROPE OF PAIN
they still come to me in my dreams,
visions of limbs that become kites
flying away from their own joints;
of kalashnikov seeds sowed into young bodies.
it lingers on the corridor of my nose,
the odour of bodies that became barbecue
ascending as a sacrifice to a deranged god.
a head rolled unclaimed,
the mouth that plastered kisses on a
son’s lips in the morning open in despair.
this doll belonged to my sister,
the remnant of her tiny hand still held it tight.
of her mass of flesh,
that was what was left for us to hide in the earth.
——————
FOR ELLIPSES
Broken boys are pallid rooms full of horror.
Their skins are scriptures of scars–
the testament of waivers they got from Death.
How do you court life when Death is wooing you,
when he promises stillness to the storms in your mind.
Do you become an ellipsis–
do you choose to end in the middle…?
Broken boys are ellipses;
flowers that wilt in the dawn of their bloom
——————
FOR EYES THAT TELL TALES
Why do your eyes tell tales
of sorrow the depth of the ocean &
joy, the expanse of the desert?
Tell me of grief on the corridor of your eyes,
tell me the memories that make those beautiful things glimmer.
(I know that in the fleeting moments of our lives
there is enough love for everyone to give,
enough joy for everyone to share &
enough sorrow for everyone to carry.)
But you, why do your eyes tell two tales at a time—
of sorrow the depth of the ocean &
joy, the expanse of the desert
——————
Poems © Adejuwon Adeola Gbalajobi
Image by Alexas_Fotos from Pixabay