I verse in tongue to the chandeliers in the room. Hands clasped,
hoping that one of them will wear the strength to chirp back at me.
There is something about the sax riffs playing in my head that makes
me want to ride the waves of its timbre & find air in it & find God in it.
Every time, what I find is a song that leads me back to everything
that screams solitude. Such grief. How do I burn incense without
altering the quality of air? Perhaps, there is a better way to reach
God without choking on dried cinnamon. I then sit by my bedside
& go into the business of Psalms. I drown myself in red wine, hoping
to see God’s face as proof of notice. It is Easter’s eve & everything in
this room seems incapable of resurrection. Oh my, my fingers are still
tugged in between the pages of scriptures & for every one I read,
I hope to create melody from this silence. Dear Lord, a black boy
in the corner of the room could do with a ray of light.
draws from vivid Imageries, life experiences, and experiences in his various relationships over the years when writing his pieces. Popularly known with the pen name “The Poetic Newton,” his works have been published and is forthcoming on issues of The Literatus, Maintenant, Written Tales, Masticadores, Pickles Magazine and many other publications all over the world. More of his works can be found on his Instagram handle @thepoeticnewton, and whenever he is on the blue app, he tweets with the handle @amoyef.