Thursday, May 1, 2025

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Daniel Aôndona | Memories Left In The Void

Memories Left In The Void

Our verses are not always symphonies or love songs
finding a voice within a man’s heart—
but like little stars seeking constellation in the broad sky,
they merge, word by word, building galaxies:
of pain, loss, euphoria, of nostalgia, tangled in our souls.
When I was a toddler, my grandfather autographed my chest
and named it a historical mark, a symbol of wisdom.
Soon, I watched it blossom into a verse of poetry,
into a song singing the universe to sleep.
But today, the universe becomes my grandfather
so, I sing it too, gently to sleep. It becomes my mother,
my brother, my sister, and father.
It becomes a river drowning the tales of
every once smile on my now wrinkled visage
because loved ones are nothing but fragile glasses,
we hold them carefully in our palms but they slip off,
breaking into particles of cold memories.
They are poppy flowers, shimmering with morning glory
only to be withered away by the harshness of the day.
Today, as I sing out the last song stuck in my chest,
I dedicate its aura to the waters, to the light, to the wind,
and all that hold the memory of those we love.

—–

To Kill A Boy

How can one stop a music that echoes
through the distant sphere of aloneness,
with sopranos down the extreme depths
of a sober and misplaced mind?
Hear me now, a boy in his innocence;
once, he inhaled the scent of a girl’s body,
and it lured him into mixed emotions, tussled.
He now sings his heart, its weight melting
into teary melodies
as he searches for a home in her arms,
in her voice, and in things that bear
the same name as hers.
Listen, no boy is a stone, you know,
we too can be flowers in our own form,
maybe not so fragile but somewhat vulnerable
to our most beloved, so we must be loved.
I tell you, it is more kind to slit a boy’s throat
than to starve him of love, of home.
But if you want to kill a boy,
just soften his heart, teach it how to love,
then let it fall and break!
Believe, he’ll never survive it,
it’ll kill him more than a bullet would’ve.

—–

Poems (c) Daniel Aôndona
Image: Quick PS on Unsplash

Daniel Aôndona
Daniel Aôndona
Daniel Aôndona is a passionate lover of arts and culture. A versatile, award-winning writer who hails from Benue State, Nigeria. Based in Abuja, Daniel is a member of the Hilltop Creative Arts Foundation, an alumni of Sprinng Writers Fellowship, a feature editor at Pawners Paper Magazine, Editor-in-chief of Words-Empire Magazine, and a multifaceted creative—spanning roles as a spoken word artist, essayist, short story writer, reviewer, poet, and literary editor. His works have been featured on notable journals such as: Paper Lanterns, Brittle Paper, The Muse Journal, Words Rhymes & Rhythms, among others within and outside Nigeria. Beyond writing, Daniel is an enthusiast of Literature-in-English and spends much of his time engaging in various creative pursuits. You can connect with him on social media: FB: Daniel Aôndona, IG: @aondonadaniel.30, X: @aondonadaniel30

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