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Dejido Bejide: 21


It was formless, weightless, and faceless
Like a vile scene that plagues the head of an infant,
That year was lighter than the next,
At its dawn I’d soak in gin and sweat,
Forcing 21 lights to spark in my heart
To live each day a little less bitter than the last.
But every time, I would die in a boring class
Or just sitting on the toilet; thinking about Jesus and my girlfriend
These tiny deaths would quicken my flesh,
My spark would drown in my thirst.
She rode my fate, I cuddled my fears
For every heartbreak, I’d shed 21 tears
It was crazy to love, crazier to learn
To clench or to leave, to severe or bind
21 cigarettes would narrow your mind.
The new age drank past the broken year,
Gulped all the deaths I’d died 21 times.
The lady beside me awakens, she beheld 21 in blink.
I chuckled beneath my breath,
’21 was a funny sign’.


Say a little prayer,
In hell, they’ve got no cold beer.
Drunkards, thrown in eternal thirst
Sere smokes beat the buds numb,
Flaming orchard, gyves swings on a sinner’s chest,
Tears in sweat, it’s the devil’s rum.
Demons pluck eyes for supper,
Fill their sockets with pubic hairs.
Multitudes shall wail in broken songs,
And oh’ the devil, he loves to dance.
Mortals would burn in bitter lights,
Silhouette against lurid nights.
Powdered skins and darkened bones,
Levitating in a mass of foul-smelling flames,
Squeezing through ethereal holes,
And condenses into another realm of cosmic pain.
So when next your folks go a’ wonder
What you always mutter beneath your breath,
Just say a little prayer,
In hell, they’ve got no cold beer.
Poems © Dejido Bejide
Photo by Adrian Swancar on Unsplash

Dejido Bejide
Dejido Bejide
Abejide Michael Ayodeji is a pharmacist. He resides in Abuja, Nigeria.


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