By Shitta Faruq Adémólá
joy is when a knife escapes the breath of a
panting pupil – Pallid – puked in peppers.
to be a man is to
man the murky milk of muted maims
& try building boulders with back
legs in beaches.
to not be a man is not be a man
how far does a wound sink in
deepness? drugged daggered daggers poised
a wound is a boy battered by bruises
in Babylon – Israelites in shackles – no Moses.
Nigeria, a Niger that noses in nefarious
nods – Nebuchadnezzar’s nests.
girl kissed by windowpanes wines, winnows
from the width of wideness. Why?
we, like the pronoun used by the God of the
Quran, they – us, all, you, me, i,
meaning we forgot to attend to the pot on fire
grandma cooks: a broom guarded by a black
belt – a song composed with fine lyrics
& a hand hounding hollow brokenness. now the
pot is a blackness of hurts / hots – ness.
“a river is always stupid to remember its source,
a red oil, as they say, owes the
iron gods a food. a brother does not
point spears to his brother. a cam wood
in hunger does not eat its maker as a lion
does not eat its wife.
The Samaritan woman
is a witch of warmheartedness”. grandma says
as the moon radiates its boom.
About the Author
Shitta Faruq Adémólá is a late teen Nigerian Poet and Writer that is thinking of carrying the world into Noah’s ark one day. Say hi @shittafaruqademola.
Copyright© 2020 by Shitta Faruq Adémólá